Harry Potter and the Triangle Ritual
by Trio-Ship
Summary: AU Year 6: Harry, Ron and Hermione deal with the aftermath of the incident at the Dep of Myst. When they become much closer than they prefer, the prophecy presses down on all three. Ends as threesome HPHGRW. See my profil for some details and warnings.
1. Chapter 1: Sealing a Friendship

**Disclaimer:** I don't own nothing, nada, njetski, nichts, except perhaps some plot-ideas.

**A/N:** Many thanks to my new beta-reader Rebecca aka Magical Mongoose.

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**Chapter One: Sealing a Friendship**

_Latin phrases: Liber de Causis, thirteenth century translation from early Arabic sources_

The trio was slowly ascending the stony path from the harbour to the fortress surveying it. On the steepest part of the path, small steps had been carved into the rock long ago, which over the centuries had been worn out by uncountable feet of gunners and musketeers. It was a shortcut; the official and paved road wound several times on its course to the top of the rock. 

He looked upwards. The fortress stood guard over the bay with its natural harbour. Once a medieval citadel erected on ancient foundations, it had been expanded and rebuilt several times. Today it was an impressive bastion, equipped with long rows of heavy guns to fend off any hostile vessels.

They walked in silence, every one of them lost in their own thoughts. Like he himself, the others were probably musing about their part in the rite. They had been discussing the whole thing for half a year. The evening Mujahid and he had arrived on the isle, Ra'id had started a slowly but steady process to convince the others of his idea.

They had both been Ra'id's apprentices decades ago. The elder had still been a young man when he had taken them under his wing. And now Ra'id had made this offer to him, visibly a stranger in the Islamic world. Even worse, he was one of the European invaders, who had suppressed the Ottomans for half a century now.

On the other hand, he wasn't – he had never been – one of those men, even if he had needed several years until he realised his true nature. The isle was still in the hands of the Turks, most of whom eyed him suspiciously, but the crew complement of the bastion had accepted him as companion of Ra'id, the official mage of the fortress.

The trio reached the main gates where the watchmen saluted at the appearance of their mage and his guests. The number of wizards on official duty for the Ottoman Empire decreased steadily. Ra'id was one of the last and it was told most members of the naval high command didn't even know that there were mages protecting some of their bases anymore, or even that there were wizards at all.

Ra'id taught him branches of magic almost forgotten by European wizards, if they had ever truly known them. The Turks knew how to use wands and staffs but they were specialised in other kinds of magic, skills not entirely useful during fast-paced battles, but invaluable in securing established dominance. Runes were one base instrument of Ottoman mages. Engraved runes charged with magic were able to enhance structures like the bastion and could ward even large areas against invading enemies. Runes and rituals were used to manipulate the elements. While it was impossible to actually control weather, certain rituals could call for rain and even storm. Once, this knowledge had been an important basis of the Ottoman Empire, but now it declined as steadily as the number of mages decreased.

Ironically though, the ritual they would perform was an ancient Roman rite, the incantations spoken in Latin, passed on by Christian monks copying ancient texts without comprehending the content. Ra'id would have to secure the ritual chamber. The musketeers trusted their mage, but the watchmen's suspicion would be raised if Latin chants were overheard.

The trio crossed the courtyard and entered the north-eastern tower, the tower with the best overview of the harbour. They needed several minutes to climb the hundred-and-forty-five steps of the spiral staircase to the top platform, where one of the guards handed them a brass long glass. At the horizon they could barely discern a heavy armed vessel, probably Royal Navy, patrolling the waters around the isles. Down in the harbour a 74 was tied to the pier – the 74-gun ship-of-the-line which would take the man back to Europe.

He noticed the elder discussing something with the guard, or more likely giving him a command. Eventually Ra'id turned towards his former apprentices and with his left hand motioned them to approach. In his other hand the elder held out a white marble orb, his Transphere. They touched it and in the blink of an eye, they were whisked into a dungeon deep below the fortress. Today was the last chance to perform the ritual; in two days he would board the ship and leave the continent for at least several years, not knowing if he would ever return.

He blinked. Moments before they had stood in bright sunlight and now they were in a dimly lit room. They had entered a Romanesque vault, perhaps an ancient catacomb. It was lit by six blue flames, which hovered over six stone columns placed on the corners of a hexagon. He blinked again. Slowly, his eyes adjusted to the dark. He noticed several figures painted on the stone floor, small and large circles, triangles, squares, pentagons, hexagons, runes and symbols of unknown languages and cultures.

"Shall we begin?"

Ra'id, the eldest of the three men, stepped forward and with his staff he touched a hexagon, marked out by the six flamed columns, a triangle, specified by every second pillar, and a circle, surrounding the other two figures. With Ra'id reciting an incantation, the three geographic figures started to gleam as if they were made of gold. In the centre of the figures stood a triangular, pointed stone pillar Ra'id had prepared some days ago. The three wizards positioned themselves around the column, each man facing one of its sides.

He was by far the youngest of the three. Nevertheless his companions had chosen him to join in their friendship and to participate in the ceremony. He knew witches and wizards all over the world; he had many acquaintances of different kind, but the friendship of these two men, their friendship, was special. These two had opened his eyes to their world – to his world – a long time ago. He was a sixty year old wizard; he had experienced a lot, had seen even more while travelling all over the world. In his life there had been many remarkable moments, but this was special.

Ra'id started to murmur. "Omnis anima nobilis tres habet operationes ..."

He surveyed his side of the column. One symbol was engraved, the T'hoy – a vertical line, halved by two horizontal bars, which were connected by a vertical half-line on the left. The symbol represented the eager traveller and enquiring explorer researching and studying various, strange forms of magic. They each had chosen their symbols themselves. The runes represented their strength; the aspects of their soul they would share with their friends. His companions had chosen the Kharr – the symbol for the elder mentor instructing and leading his friends – and the Arji – the symbol of the combatant.

"... omnium quaedam sunt in quibusdam per modum quo licet ut sit unum eorum in alio ..."

He placed the palm of his left hand on the symbol. It tingled. To sense magic was an ability he had learned long ago. Over the years he had perfected his perceptivity, so he was aware of his magic aura connecting with the column or rather with the symbol. Ra'id had explained the effects of the ritual some weeks ago. During the ceremony they would chain their magical spheres. If there was something like a magical sphere or aura, he thought. Several cultures and their theories negated its existence. Some even believed in a magical core, centred in every single beast and being.

"... omnis virtus unita plus est infinita quam virtus multiplicata ..."

The area around the column started to crackle, just before a dark green flame ignited, hovering inches above the peak of the column, while six golden lines appeared on the ground, connecting the centred column with the edges of the surrounding geographic figures. The sensed tingling increased; it was as if someone tapped his magical aura, as if the ancient symbol aspirated his magic.

"... virtus prima regit res creatas omnes ..."

The tingling changed into a tickling and crawled along his forearm. Even if he would have tried he would have been unable to withdraw his arm ... the tickling reached his upper arm ... another voice infiltrated his perceptions ... the vision became blurred ... a female voice was whispering something into his left ear ...

"Wake up, sleepyhead and come in. Dinner's ready."

Ronald Weasley opened his eyes and blinked. He lay spread-eagled on the meadow behind the Burrow, his red hair glowing in the sunset. Ginny, his little sister, was kneeling at his side, broadly grinning and caressing his left arm with a blade of grass. Ron's freckled forearms were scarred with welts, some barely visible anymore, others still deeply engraved, mementoes of their adventure in the Department of Mysteries a month ago. A human brain had entangled him with tentacles of thoughts and had left not only the scars but had also implanted strange dreams and memories into his mind.

By now Ron was trying to discover these new memories inside his head. Hitherto they had appeared at random, as flashes or visions and frequently as dreams and nightmares. This must have been memories of a Muggle-born wizard, born at the dawn of the nineteenth century. The man must have travelled quite a lot – the memories included passages on age-old sailing ships, foreign cultures, and strange landscapes. He had never attended Hogwarts or another wizarding school, but had learned magic from Arabian and African medicos and sorcerers, a different kind of magic than that wand waving they taught at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

"I'm coming."

He was glad his family hadn't chosen to spend another summer at Grimmauld Place, the former London mansion of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. Instead they would stay at the Burrow for their whole holiday. De-gnoming the garden was way better than fighting jinxed objects of a lunatic household. Two days a week he and Ginny were even working at their brothers' joke-shop, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, which earned both some extra money for the rest of the year.

Life at the Weasleys' had become much quieter since the twins moved into a flat above their shop in Diagon Alley. Bill, the eldest child, had moved to a flat in London, together with his French girlfriend Fleur Delacour. Both were working for Gringotts and Bill was an active member of the Order of the Phoenix, so they seldom visited the Burrow. Mostly only Mrs. Weasley, Ron and Ginny joined for dinner, sometimes together with Arthur Weasley. Only on weekends most members of the family were together and a few times Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks attended, or even Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody. Percy Weasley, on the other hand, was never seen at the Burrow, but no one spoke about him anymore. He still had a hand on the family clock, changing between 'travelling', 'work', and 'home'. The latter was an indication or even proof that Percy didn't call the Burrow 'home' anymore.

The magical protections around the Weasleys' home had been reinforced by Albus Dumbledore and Mad-Eye Moody and later tested by Bill, an experienced curse breaker. None of these protections would completely ward off an attack of Dementors or Death Eaters but they would stop any aggressor in their tracks long enough for the inhabitants of the Burrow to flee either by Floo Powder or by Portkey. Now the Burrow was safe enough for Dumbledore to allow Harry Potter to stay for the rest of the summer and they would pick him up at the beginning of August.

"There's a letter from Hermione, dear," said Molly Weasley, when Ron entered the kitchen. His face lit up when he took the envelope and recognised the handwriting of his friend. He was surprised by how thick the letter was, so he carefully felt the envelope. Ah, a book. What else? Probably Transfiguration or Charms or even Potions.

"Did Hermione send you her homework for copying?"

Noticing the nosy face of his sister he reluctantly decided to open it later, in his room, without ruffle. Hermione's letters were mostly quite long, often partly boring, but always special. The past year their relation had become much closer, during the summer at Grimmauld Place and later at Hogwarts, particularly when Harry had been on the warpath against everyone and everything.

By contrast, Harry's letters were mostly short notes, containing not much more than 'I'm fine,' especially this summer, after the death of his godfather Sirius Black. The notes proved the contrary, their author was definitely not 'fine'. But how could Ron help his friend other than by writing letters? Dumbledore had insisted that Harry stay with his awful relatives, at least until the beginning of August.

"What were you doing outside?" Ginny asked while setting the table.

"Nothing," replied Ron absent-minded.

Expectedly his sister wasn't satisfied by the answer. "Another vision?" she demanded, curiously.

"Mmmh," mumbled Ron shortly. The answer caused his mother to fuss about him. During the first week at home he had told about his dreams or visions, but considering his family's reaction, and especially his mother's, he kept things private. Now the only person he talked to – actually wrote to – about his mental adventures was Hermione. The girl had advised him not to inform Harry, as it would upset him even further.

Smirking widely Ginny whispered, "Mum's afraid you'll gradually go insane."

Ron knew that already. She had wanted him to visit St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries when she had learned about his visions. "Mum, I'm not going insane."

"How do you know?" answered Mrs. Weasley anxiously. "For all we know, you have strange memories implanted in your brain. How will you cope with them?" She started to handle the dishes, her way to cope with worrying events. "We should consult a professional healer."

Ginny grinned broadly. "You might even share a ward with Gilderoy Lockhart, assisting in signing his autographs."

"Shut up," Ron answered and in response his sister showed him her tongue.

Just when they were going to eat, the family clock chimed once and then twice, when Arthur Weasley's hand switched to travelling and moments later to 'at home'. Soon he entered the kitchen, greeting his family while settling himself at the head of the table.

"You're late, dear."

Mr. Weasley nodded. "Further problems with Fudge," he reported. "He still denies the seriousness of the situation, but at the same time he requests a guard of at least ten Aurors for himself and his family."

"But what about Malfoy and the lot?" Ron asked. "Haven't they been questioned? With Veritaserum?"

"Fudge is delaying everything," his father responded. "I assume he fears their testimony. Imagine, Lucius Malfoy admitting he's been bribing the Minister for years!"

He paused, while chewing on his stew.

"Some department heads are fed up with this stuff and started a campaign. Tomorrow there will be a big article in the Daily Prophet, calling for a vote of no confidence."

"Any bad news?" Ginny asked innocently.

"There had been another nasty attack on Muggles," her father answered, "without the Dark Mark."

"Arthur!" Molly Weasley exclaimed. "The children!"

Ron sighed. His mother tried everything to keep the war away from them, ignoring the fact that her children had captured more Death Eaters and faced more dangerous situations than most Aurors during a lifetime. Since their first year at Hogwarts they had confronted teachers possessed by You-Know-Who, Death-Eaters impersonating teachers, convicted criminals chasing other criminals, various dragons, Blast-Ended Skrewts, Acromantulas, and all that. He knew his father didn't share her opinion but didn't dare to oppose her either in this case. Thus the conversion turned towards some less dangerous subjects – like gardening.

Later that evening Ron lay on his back in his bed, a paperback on his chest and Hermione's letter in his hands.

_Dear Ron,_

_As you probably expected, I haven't heard anything else from Harry, only that 'he's fine'. He's definitely not, so please write to him as often as possible. It is easier for you than for me, because you, well, you have your own owl. I want to send him some postcards from Austria, but I'm not entirely sure if a happy family's holidays wouldn't unsettle him further. Besides I don't know if his relatives are intercepting his mail._

They could buy her an owl for her next birthday, Ron mused. All three together: Harry, Ginny – and himself, of course. With his job at the joke-shop they should be able to afford one.

_During the last two weeks, I have read a lot about post-traumatic stress disorder; there are several Muggle books covering the subject. I should have done that a year ago. We would have been able to understand Harry and even help him to handle his memories of Cedric's death and the encounter with Voldemort. The book I sent you covers several aspects and can help you too, to cope with the events in the Department of Mysteries. Even if you don't understand everything, you'll read it, won't you? You might be able to help yourself and Harry as well._

He shook his head. The first thing which came to her mind to sort out everything: Books.

_We are leaving for Austria in three days. If during the next two weeks you intend to send Pigwidgeon, you have to tell him neither to wait at the reception, nor to deliver the mail during mealtime. Your owl IS cute, but he's quite disturbing sometimes. He should probably deliver the mail directly to my hotel room. I'll make sure I keep a window open. But maybe you don't want to send Pig at all, because it's a long way to Austria for such a tiny bird._

_I have thought much about your visions. You should record your visions and dreams, like the dream diary you once had to keep for Trelawney. _

Ron snorted. To practice something suggested by that old fraud was downright weird.

_You also should contact an Unspeakable of the Department of Mysteries; they know more about the wizard whose brain affected you. Perhaps they will even appreciate your co-operation. When I'm back home, I will do some research on brains and transferring memories or personalities for you, if you like._

_I hope you have already begun with your homework? I have just finished my Arithmancy essay on the significance of the number seven. _

_I doubt that Mum and Dad will allow me to come over to the Burrow this summer, they already complained about not seeing me often enough. Maybe we could meet up in Diagon Alley this summer? Somewhere around mid-August?_

_Please take care of Harry._

_I miss you. Both._

_Love,_

_Hermione_

Contacting an Unspeakable? His Mum would indeed place him in a padded cell with Lockhart. And homework? They hadn't even received their O.W.L.s yet. How should he know which essays he had to write if he didn't know which classes he would attend? Fred and George had only achieved three O.W.L.s each – Ron doubted that he himself had passed more exams than the twins. Naturally Hermione would have passed all O.W.L. tests as best in their year.

Sighing loudly, Ron took the small book and read the title. "Posttraumatic Stress Disorder"

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_posted: April 15, 2006  
__ betaed chapter posted: April 14, 2007 _

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**A/N: **Thank you for your reviews. If you are interested in Trio-Fics have a look at my C2 Community _Harry Ron Hermione._


	2. Chapter 2: Two Worlds

**Disclaimer:** I'm male, not female, dark haired, not blond. Would anyone believe I own Harry Potter? I own nothing, nada, nichts, njietsky, except perhaps some plot elements.

**A/N:** And again many thanks to my beta-reader Rebecca aka Magical Mongoose.

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**Chapter Two: Two Worlds**

After the fight in the Department of Mysteries, Hermione's parents had received quite a long letter from Albus Dumbledore, in which he had explained the events. He had mentioned Hermione's involvement without giving away too much information. To deal with Muggle parents of Hogwarts students was always a delicate affair, which the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry usually delegated to his Deputy Headmistress, Minerva McGonagall. But it was a special problem to inform the parents about a serious injury of their daughter's, particularly as the parents didn't know anything about the current situation in the wizarding world.

When the Grangers collected Hermione at King's Cross, they knew their daughter had travelled to London, accompanied by some classmates. She had sneaked into the Ministry of Magic and had prevented a criminal from stealing an important magical object. She had been injured, but had recovered within a few days. Of course they had been worried, despite some letters from their daughter, in which she'd said she was ok.

Hermione knew about Dumbledore's letter, and she knew that she would face serious questions the moment she arrived at home. She was an only child and had to bear all of her parents' significant amount of love and care alone – sometimes a heavy burden for a sixteen year old teenager. But she was able to handle every question and to hide any ominous information from her parents – information like the _Daily Prophet_.

Nevertheless, Mrs. Granger insisted that her daughter visit a Muggle doctor to undergo a complete medical check, and finally Hermione gave in. Madam Pomfrey's care had been most efficient, and so the results of the check-up were quite impressive to her parents and the doctor.

"Few kids are as healthy as you, Miss Granger," he explained. "You should do some sports, but apart from that, your physical condition is great."

"Neither fast food nor cigarettes," explained Hermione, laughing, and shocked her mother with the amendment, "and only a little bit of alcohol."

Despite her physical condition, Hermione still had to cope mentally with the encounter at the Department of Mysteries and her serious injury. She still had nightmares about their battle with the Death Eaters, about their flight with the Thestrals and especially about Antonin Dolohov, the man who had almost killed her with a dark curse.

During her first week at home Hermione researched in Muggle libraries about aftermathes of traumatic incidents, her way to deal with the events. Soon she realised that at least Harry had needed professional help, not just after the incident in the Department of Mysteries, but since his encounter with Voldemort at the end of the Triwizard Tournament, over a year ago! But she was also aware that the wizarding world was able to mend broken bones in seconds, but didn't care for a broken mind, if it hadn't been broken by magic.

The Grangers spent the second half of July in Austria, far from the British wizarding world and far from the threats of Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters. During these two weeks Hermione was able to forget, or at least to repress the events, and her nightmares slowly faded away. When the family boarded the airplane back to London, the world seemed to be normal again.

The very first morning after their return, Hermione came back down to earth with a bump.

Over the years her parents had gotten accustomed to owl post and magic owls. They had even various owl-treats for Hedwig, Pigwidgeon and the occasional school owls in stock. By now Mr. Granger was well trained at catching a letter, before it was delivered in the butter-dish. But during their first breakfast at home both Muggles and their daughter were taken aback by a large amount of owls, who delivered the last fourteen issues of the Daily Prophet, soon followed by several official looking leaflets from the Ministry of Magic, some requests for interviews, the O.W.L. results, a letter from Ron, a short note from Harry, the usual Hogwarts letter for the next school year and a letter from Professor McGonagall asking for a meeting.

Hermione didn't even try to collect the stack of papers; it was useless. The titles and photos on the front pages had caught the attention of her parents the moment the first dozen owls arrived.

_HARRY POTTER: THE CHOSEN ONE?_ read a headline above a large image of Harry in his Quidditch robes, accompanied by two small pictures of Ron and Hermione herself. Astonishingly new pictures, she mused.

_LIFE SENTENCE FOR DEATH EATERS _was another headline, complemented by pictures of Lucius Malfoy and his companions and photos of the six students, who had 'defeated' and 'captured' the lot.

"Hermione Granger: The Witch behind the Boy Who Lived," read Mrs. Granger aloud, skimming through a specimen copy of _Teen Witches_ to which an additional request for an interview was attached.

"Err... That's one of these gossip rags." Hermione said in a high pitched voice. "Don't believe anything in there."

Meanwhile her father studied the ministerial leaflets  
_SECURITY GUIDELINES TO PROTECT YOU AGAINST DARK WIZARDS_,   
_HOW TO DETECT AND IDENTIFY DARK MAGIC,  
INCREASED SECURITY MEASURES FOR WITCHES AND WIZARDS,  
_and_ INFORMATION FOR MUGGLE-PARENTS OF HOGWARTS-STUDENTS._

"Err... Here are my O.W.L. results," Hermione started again, while opening the letter. "O.W.L. stands for Ordinary Wizarding Level..."

Her parents looked up and stared at her.

"Ten Os – that means Outstanding – and best of my year in all but one subjects," she continued.

Her parents still stared at her.

Eventually Mr. Granger responded. "It is good to know that you still find some time to study... with all your... extracurricular... activities," he said, waving his hand over the newspapers.

Only now they realised how little they knew about the 'other' life of their daughter, and they became aware of the war raging through the wizarding world. Nearly every single issue of the newspaper showed a photo of their daughter's close friend Harry Potter on its cover, or at least on page two, and several papers mentioned Hermione Granger fighting at his side.

The story of Sirius Black was retold, apparently inspired by anonymous ministerial source, to discredit Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge. Of course, the narrative included a report about Black's godson Harry Potter and his friends Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger, who had somehow managed to liberate and hide Black two years ago.

"Oh ... err ..." Hermione searched for a suitable answer. "That's no problem. Unlike Harry and Ron, I don't play Quidditch ... And ... and we did this ... usually after the exams."

Her mother still had to accept the unbelievable details of the numerous tales. "So you found the Philosopher's Stone? And the Elixir of Life?"

Somehow even the story about the Philosopher's stone had leaked out, with details about McGonagall's giant animated chess set, Sprout's sprawling Devil's Snare and Snape's various potions. Of course, some details were exorbitantly exaggerated; Hermione had never seen the stone.

"Oh... No... err... Harry found it... That moment I was just looking for a teacher..."

Once they had recovered their voice, Mrs. and Mr. Granger assailed her daughter with questions and reproaches.

"Hermione, how could you hide these things from us?"

"Hermione, we believed you, and we believed in you. If only half of these stories are true, then you have lied to us since your first year at Hogwarts."

"Hermione, what have we done that you didn't trust us for so long?"

The girl took a deep breath, forcing herself to at least appear calm. "What would you've done if I'd told you everything? What? You'd have taken me from school at once!"

"Of course we would have and we will," Mr. Granger stated firmly. "You won't return to that school!"

"NO!" Hermione exclaimed. "You can't do that!"

"We can and we will," he insisted. "You're irresponsible; you've endangered yourself; you've broken several laws, associated with a convicted criminal,..."

"He was innocent," she shouted, "and he was never granted a proper trial!"

"Hermione, you betrayed us for years!"

"We can't trust you anymore!"

"It's the bad influence of those two boys and the school."

"You can't stop me," she yelled. "In seven weeks I'm of age and then I can go wherever I want."

"Not in our world. You'll be of age in a year and until then you'll go nowhere."

Hermione didn't answer. With her head held high, she took her O.W.L.-results and the Hogwarts letter before storming out of the kitchen into her room, slamming every door she passed. Inwardly she was a wreck. She flung herself onto the bed and buried her face in the pillow, crying. After a while her mother entered her room and sat down on the edge of her bed.

"Darling, we care about you and we're worried about you," Mrs. Granger said softly. "You have to understand that we are frightened by the stories in your papers. We only want to protect you."

When she tried to hug her daughter, the teenager flinched and sobbed. "Leave me alone!" Hermione knew her parents had a point. She had betrayed them for years, but she would never, ever abandon Ron and Harry.

---

Two days later Minerva McGonagall visited the Grangers. Somehow Hermione's parents had managed to let her in without their daughter noticing, but Hermione recognised the familiar voice while passing the closed door of the living room. She hesitated only a moment. Instead of disturbing the meeting, she headed for her room to get the Extendable Ear the twins had given her a year ago. Fred and George Weasley had invented Extendable Ears as tools to eavesdrop, through keyholes and over a short distance. A long, flesh-coloured string transported every noise to one's ear. Only two minutes later she was back and thrust the end of the extendable ear under the gap of the door.

Professor McGonagall was overwhelmed with reproaches, like Hermione herself had been two days ago, but her stern and self-confident poise was unshakeable, at least unshakeable by two Muggle parents. On the contrary, the fact, that the Grangers knew about the dangers their daughter was in, simplified her task to explain the current visit. The Order of the Phoenix, a secret society to defeat dark wizards, had obtained information that Hermione might have become a prime target of You-Know-Who. At the moment Aurors of the Ministry of Magic and member of the Order were already guarding the villa, and they intended to install some magical protections around the premises, provided the Grangers granted their permission.

"And again Mr. and Mrs. Weasley offer your daughter to spend some time at their house in Devon, together with her friends. The site is nearly as well protected as Hogwarts Castle, and September first we will organise a safe return to school."

"I'm sorry to reject the offer, Ms. McGonagall," answered Mr. Granger politely, "but we're going to send Hermione to relatives in Australia."

'What?' Hermione thought alarmed. An uncle lived in Melbourne, but she had seen him only twice. She was surprised and annoyed; her parents couldn't decide something like this over her head. Did they want to ...

"Australia," said McGonagall thoughtfully, "I don't know how far reaching the contacts of You-Know-Who are, but I could contact the Australian Ministry of Magic to keep an eye on your daughter. May I ask where your relatives live?"

"I'm sorry," answered Mr. Granger, "we want to keep the place secret."

The Deputy Headmistress was irritated, but she continued. "At any rate Australia is safer than this place, and I am almost certain we could set up her return to school from Australia by Portkey as well."

"Excuse me, Ms. McGonagall," Mr. Granger interjected, still as politely as before. "Just in case I haven't made myself clear, Hermione won't return to your school. She's going to attend an Australian High-School, next school year."

For several moments there was completely silent. Minerva McGonagall was apparently totally taken aback.

"Dr. Granger!" she eventually exclaimed, her voice filled with indignation. "Hermione is one of the best students I have ever taught. I doubt that your daughter agrees to your plans."

"It doesn't matter whether Hermione agrees or not. Our decision stands, and we've decided what's best for her."

That was the moment Hermione chose to enter the scene, and she strode over to the adults sitting in the three-piece suite in front of the fireplace.

"Good Evening, Professor McGonagall," she greeted the teacher. "You just heard that my parents want to remove me from Hogwarts. I already knew that, but even I didn't know that they intend to push me off to Melbourne."

Every head turned in her direction.

"Hermione, did you eavesdrop?" her mother asked frowning.

"Of course I eavesdropped," the teenager answered annoyed. "If you believe you can determine my future without even informing me..."

"It is not up to you to decide that," snapped Mr. Granger fiercely. "You aren't of age, and as long as we are your legal guardians..."

"I'm of age in seven weeks, and then..."

Her father rose from his chair. "Not in our world," he barked, his voice louder than before.

"Dr. Granger," McGonagall tried to intervene, "your daughter will come of age with her seventeenth birthday..."

"She won't be in Britain on her seventeenth birthday anymore. And overseas no one will know that she is a witch. Only standard laws will apply. Our laws will apply!"

"Professor," Hermione turned towards her teacher, "I once read about a law concerning Muggle-born witches and wizards. The Ministry of Magic can take Muggle-born children into custody, if their parents thwart their education."

"Hermione!" Mrs. Granger was appalled.

It was a random shot, and Hermione doubted that such a law existed. As the majority of purebloods still looked down on Muggle-born children, most of those would prefer to hinder Muggle-borns to enter the wizarding world instead of patronising them. It depended on her parents to believe in such a law. They probably would, if McGonagall didn't enlighten them about the truth.

Indeed, the Professor looked doubtingly. "Miss Granger, I don't know what..."

"Professor," the girl interrupted her quickly. "I hereby appeal to that law. I hereby appeal to the Ministry of Magic, that the Ministry takes me in custody, until I come of age."

"Hermione," Mr. Granger shouted, enraged, "you won't do that!"

"I just did it, don't you get it?" Hermione shouted back. "If you think you can try to meddle in my life and ruin my future, then... then..." she gasped.

Professor McGonagall intervened in the discord, "Miss Granger, Dr. Granger, please calm down." Then she turned towards her student. "Miss Granger, I would like to speak with your parents alone," she said calmly. "I'm sure we'll find a way to solve the problem."

Hermione nodded and with an encouraging smile from her teacher she left the room. At once she tried to use her extendable ear again, but it didn't work. The Deputy Headmistress had probably cast a strong silencing spell around the room. Hermione didn't even know if it was a calm discussion or a heated dispute, and she had to wait nearly an hour before Minerva McGonagall opened the door.

"Miss Granger, may I have a word, in private?" she asked, smiling slightly. It seemed to be a good sign.

Hermione led her into the kitchen, offering a cup of tea.

"Yes, please. This might take us some time." McGonagall sat down at the small kitchen table and watched her student filling the kettle.

"Is it always such a problem to deal with the parents of Muggle-born students?" Hermione asked, while preparing the tea leaves.

"Only in some very special cases," the teacher answered. "I know that most Muggle-born students tend to hide some facts from their parents, and in most cases I agree, that the parents shouldn't know every detail about the wizarding world."

She sighed. "In your case, Miss Granger, I expected you to be more delicate in handling your parents. I estimated you would inform your parents cautiously, but extensively enough to prepare them for a situation like this, in which they have to face nearly similar dangers as you."

"The first time I was in mortal peril, I was a twelve year old girl," Hermione answered softly, setting the tea service on the table, "and till now every year at least one time, if you count the second task of the Triwizard Tournament."

She sat down facing Minerva McGonagall. "I was thirteen when I was petrified by a Basilisk and fourteen when I was nearly demented and almost bitten by a Werewolf. With sixteen I was seriously injured by a Death-Eater. What should I have told them?"

McGonagall pensively sipped her tea. "You know your parents better than I do, but I am almost certain they would have taken the news much better, if you had informed them in small doses instead in a pile of Daily Prophet and Witch Weekly."

The teacher paused and sighed again, but then she smiled. "Finally I was able to convince your parents not to remove you from Hogwarts. I confirmed your story about laws, which allow the Ministry to take over custody of you, and they seemed to believe it."

Hermione heaved a sigh of relief.

"However, they did not allow you to visit the Burrow, as they believe it is the presence of Mr. Potter which endangers you."

"Well," said Hermione sadly, "I think I have to make some concessions. My parents complained before that they don't see me often enough."

"And," McGonagall added, "you are not allowed to leave the premises."

"What?"

"It's not a condition of your parents, but an order from Professor Dumbledore. Neither are Mr. Potter, Miss Weasley and Mr. Weasley allowed to leave the Burrow. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley already offered to take care of your school supplies. I'm certain they will hold their offer, despite the fact that you're not at the Burrow."

Hermione nodded weakly. "It's okay. At least I'll return to Hogwarts. It's only for a month anyway."

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_posted: April 17, 2006_  
_betaed chapter posted: May 12, 2007_

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**A/N: **Thank you for your reviews. If you are interested in Trio-Fics you should visit my C2 Community _Harry Ron Hermione._


	3. Chapter 3: The Boy Who Didnt Die

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter belongs to J.K.Rowling and Time-Warner. I own nothing, not even the computer I use to write this disclaimer.

**A/N:** Many thanks to my beta reader Ash who pointed out quite a lot of errors. Ash and her friend Lex will help me improve my story from now on. You'll find their own story under their pseudonym Francesca Moonstar in my 'Favorite Authors' list. Please have a look at it, too :-)

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**Chapter Three: The Boy-Who-Didn't-Die  
**

The moon shone through the windows of number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey. Number four equated all other square houses along the street, with their square cut hedges, short-cut lawns and trimmed flowerbeds. This time of day, nearly all residents of Privet Drive were sleeping more or less peacefully; all but one almost sixteen year old boy, who, lying in his bed, was trying everything to stay awake.

Harry Potter had been so desperate that he had started to read through the entire works of Gilderoy Lockhart. At the moment he was halfway through _Magical Me_, a forged autobiography about the most heroic adventurer – Lockhart himself, of course – describing his numerous encounters with all sorts of dangerous creatures, countless conflicts with evil dark wizards, and an everlasting battle with an oversized ego.

Years ago, Harry and Ron had revealed that Lockhart was nothing more than a fraud, only capable of powerful memory charms, which he used to erase the minds of those wizards and witches who had told him the stories he had written down as his own experiences. His writing style was as pompous as he himself, but Harry had to admit, whosoever had truly undergone the adventures, the stories were enthralling.

Nevertheless, the whole reason to read was a desperate but ineffective attempt not to fall asleep. It was far beyond midnight, Harry's eyelids were heavy, and the description of Lockhart saving a gorgeous Indian Princess from a rampaging giant wasn't able to keep him awake. Eventually, his eyes closed just the moment the Princess fainted into Lockhart's arms. They snapped open a second later, when his forehead connected with the book, only to steadily fall shut anew. Harry's mind was floating in a state between waking and sleeping, dealing with a mountain troll and a bushy haired princess, who was lecturing a freckled, red haired knight, whilst she knocked out the troll with a huge tome of _Hogwarts: A History_.

This time his head missed the book and sank into the soft pillow. His subconscious told him there'd be no need to open his eyes again. Later, he wouldn't remember where his dream had started and at which point it had turned into a nightmare. His mind swirled around, dashing forward along memories, passing locations he had visited over the years, and then, suddenly, with a thud he landed on the ground in the middle of nowhere.

"Wormtail," a high-pitched voice hissed, "our guest has arrived," and two glaring red eyes manifested in his mind.

Hours later, Harry awoke, his body trembling and drenched in sweat, and he didn't even know if it had been a dream at all. Like every goddamn night.

---

At first it seemed as if Mad-Eye Moody's threat had made an impact on Vernon Dursley. When Harry's relatives had picked him up at King's Cross Station, Arthur Weasley, Nymphadora Tonks, Remus Lupin, and especially Mad-Eye Moody hadn't asked but ordered the Dursleys to treat Harry well, and the appearance of four determined wizards had impressed them. However, the moment Harry and his relatives had left the station, Vernon Dursley stated clearly that, whatever those freaks said, the boy had to earn his living at his house. Thus, Harry Potter had to suffer from his Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon nearly as much as every summer.

Usually Harry had early breakfast with the elder Dursleys, commonly used by Uncle Vernon to complain about Harry's kind in general, about Harry, Harry's hair or Harry's untidy downy beard. The latter had been a huge exaggeration, but it had resulted in his Aunt handing him a cheap razor later that day and in Harry gaining some painful experiences the following morning. Since then shaving was something he had decided to skip the moment he would leave Privet Drive.

Aunt Petunia saw that her nephew didn't eat too much so that there was enough left for Dudley. After all, her son shouldn't die of starvation. Not that Harry bothered; his appetite was afflicted with the events at the Department of Mysteries as much as his mind was. He ate even less than usual and mostly abandoned lunch entirely. After breakfast he was given the daily chores while Dudley slept in. After such a successful school year at Smeltings, the poor boy needed his rest. Of course, Duddydums would have to re-sit most of his exams, but that was only a minor defect of a great boxing season, wasn't it?

Over the days he had to clean out the attic and tidy the garden shed, repair and repaint the wooden fence, do the gardening, and similar jobs, while Dudley was strolling around with his gang. Of course, Harry's work scarcely met the requirements of his relatives, so he had to do most of his assignments all over again. It bothered him, but then again, he was glad to be preoccupied with something as ordinary as cleansing the gutter or doing Dudley's laundry. The latter was a distasteful but nevertheless completely hazard-free task, which allowed him to suppress his grief and his guilt about the death of his godfather, Sirius Black, at least for some hours.

At night, everything he had suppressed by day came back – and Harry wasn't able to resist. In his nightmares he had to relive the deaths of his parents and Cedric Diggory; over and over again he had to witness the ritual of Voldemort's return; night after night he stumbled in the trap at the Department of Mysteries, where his friends were seriously injured; again and again he saw Sirius hit by a curse and falling backwards through the veil.

Then there was the prophecy: "Marked as his equal," it said. "The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord," it said. He was marked to kill Voldemort, destined by a prophecy given by that old fraud Trelawney sixteen years ago.

"Either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives."

Day and night he was haunted by these words. He wanted to disbelieve the prophecy, he really wanted to doubt that Trelawney was able to predict anything even resembling a possible future. But he knew it was a real prediction, as real as her announcement of Voldemort's resurrection. Perhaps part of the prophecy had already been fulfilled, Halloween night, fourteen years ago, with the first downfall of Lord Voldemort, or in his second year, with the destruction of Riddle's diary. But the rest was quite clear: One of them had to kill the other. And there was no doubt who would survive the encounter.

How could he, a not even sixteen year old boy, finish off the most dangerous dark wizard of all times? Whether weeding the flowerbeds or digging through Dudley's underwear, the thought never really left him.

Oh, yeah, right. _The power the Dark Lord knows not! _His skills at Quidditch? "Love," Dumbledore had said, was that unknown power. Indeed, the power Voldemort had been surprised of was the powerful love of Harry's mother, her sacrifice, which had saved his life twice. But the Dark Lord had outmanoeuvred this 'power' during his resurrection by using Harry's blood. He had even proven he was able to touch the boy. It was sheer luck that he hadn't killed him on the spot.

Oh, Harry had defeated the Dark Lord five times as of now. Mere luck and the sacrifice of his mother had enabled him to win, and the last two 'fights' had been narrow escapes, not brave victories. In the Ministry of Magic, Dumbledore had appeared just in time to save his ass. Some minutes later and the whole prophecy would have been fulfilled. He might have driven Voldemort out of his head, but there was no way he could even hope to get a chance in a duel.

He had to try. It was his destiny, and he had to try soon, or he would be responsible for all those future deaths. Even if he failed, he bore responsibility for everyone out there. And he had to face him alone. The last encounter had ended in a catastrophe, with Sirius killed by Bellatrix Lestrange and his friends severely injured. Hermione had barely survived the curse which had hit her straight in the chest. Only the sudden appearance of the Order of the Phoenix had saved their lifes. That was another daemon haunting him: Some nights he saw Voldemort with his wand pointing at Ron, Hermione, Ginny, his classmates, Fred, George, killing them all, all dying after he himself had lured them into another forlorn fight.

Ron and Hermione. They had stood by his side no matter what happened for five years now. Hermione had tried to put him off breaking into the Ministry, but nevertheless she had followed his lead. In their letters they tried to reassure him: they were okay; he did not have to worry; he wasn't to blame for anything. But he knew better than anyone else that he was the one who had convinced five other children to fight a bunch of Death Eaters. The only reason that they survived was that just in time the Order of the Phoenix arrived, alarmed by Snape.

Well, nevertheless, Snape was to blame, too. If he had taught Harry Occlumency, the art of clearing and sealing his mind from external penetration, correctly, then he wouldn't have seen the visions created by Voldemort, and he hadn't been lured into the Department of Mysteries that night.

And Dumbledore: If he had informed him as to why he had to learn Occlumency, if Harry had known what might happen, then he'd have known what to expect. He wouldn't have believed the images he had seen; he would have doubted the visions which Voldemort had placed inside his mind.

And again Dumbledore: If Dumbledore had informed him about the Prophecy, he could have collected the sphere holding the images of Trelawney ages ago to destroy it. Nobody would have had to guard the Department of Mysteries; the Unspeakable Broderick Bode would still be alive; Mr. Weasley wouldn't have been attacked; Sturgis Podmore wouldn't have been arrested.

Over the last fifteen years, everything Dumbledore had done to ensure his safety and well-being had turned into the contrary. In number four, Privet Drive, Harry had been safe from Death Eaters, but not from his relatives. He had grown up without the stares and glares of the wizarding world, but his childhood had even been worse, not only at Little Whinging but also at Hogwarts, where he had faced Voldemort four – _four _– times.

Nevertheless, he had convinced Cedric to take the cup together, he had insisted on entering the Department of Mysteries. Even though he couldn't have known what would happen to Cedric, he had known someone was after him, and he definitely should have known what to expect at the Ministry of Magic. The one to blame for their deaths was Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Just-Didn't-Die, no one else.

Most of Harry's spare time was spent in his room, trying to distract his thoughts by reading his spellbooks (quite useless without being allowed to practice), _A History of Magic_ (nearly as boring as Binns himself), and Dudley's untouched library (his cousin made a scene when he found out). During the first week, Harry had taken every opportunity to leave the house, wandering through the neighbourhood and heading for the park. Soon, he learned that the house was still guarded by the Order of the Phoenix. One of the guards had reported his strolls to Dumbledore, who at once had requested that Harry didn't leave the property anymore.

Dumbledore didn't learn from his mistakes. He had caged Sirius, who later had jumped at the chance to leave the house, and now he caged Harry with a similar effect. Harry wasn't able to stay inside all the time; he couldn't bear the four walls of his small bedroom any longer. Last year, just after Voldemort's resurrection, no one had cared if he wandered the streets. Now he had to sneak out, covered by his Invisibility Cloak, which Harry often did at night. Except at full moon. After the encounter with Dementors last year, he downright expected that this year someone might send a pack of werewolves for him.

His contacts with the outer world, the wizarding world, were minimal. The Order had charmed the whole street against unknown owls; only his friends and the Ministry were able to contact him now. Sometimes he saw owls circling high above Privet Drive before they returned to the sender. It bothered Harry that no one had asked or at least informed him beforehand, but he also was glad that he didn't have to deal with the crap he had received during last school year. Even the owls delivering the _Daily Prophet_ were blocked, and he wondered if it had been done by accident or on purpose.

The thing he missed most was flying. Mounting a broom, taking to the skies, leaving everything behind, and then free falling, gathering speed, shooting down to earth, until the last moment to jerk the broom upwards avoiding a collision – that was his way to clear his mind. He hadn't been on a broomstick since October for their first Quidditch match, after which Dolores Umbridge had confiscated his Firebolt. Professor McGonagall had returned the broom at the end of last term, but there was no way for him to use it now. Harry had thought about it; he had seriously considered mounting his broom and escaping through the window of his bedroom, but somewhere in the back of his mind sanity had intervened.

Flying... that was the thing which drove him to the park again and again. The swings weren't a replacement in any way, but they were within reach, and when Harry closed his eyes he could almost forget that he was chained to the ground. When the swing reached its peak there was a moment, a very short moment, when he was hovering in the air. And when he opened his eyes at just this moment, he felt like he was floating through the dusky skies.

---

It was halfway through July when Professor McGonagall sent word of her arrival and asked for his assistance in introducing a Muggle-born to the wizarding world. Harry welcomed the distraction, but he wondered why his teacher chose him. Hermione would have been an obvious choice, as she was a Muggle-born herself. Unless... unless McGonagall wanted to present a special student, The Boy-Who-Lived; this idea annoyed him immensely.

He hesitated to inform his relatives about the visitation of another wizard, and delayed it until Friday, the day of the Professor's appearance. As his relatives rarely entered his bedroom, they didn't notice he had even tried to tidy up, at least a bit. He wasn't afraid of Professor McGonagall, but (and he would never admit it, not even to himself) he feared her stern gaze, and his Head of House was one of the teachers he didn't want to let down – especially after she stood up for him against Dolores Umbridge just ten weeks ago, during his career advice. The prior state of his bedroom wasn't adequate to present.

So he announced her appearance Friday morning during breakfast.

"Uncle Vernon," he started, "one of my professors is coming to visit me today."

The announcement had two similar yet different effects on the two adults. While Aunt Petunia noticeably paled, Uncle Vernon's face went beyond red and reached a shade of purple, indicating that Harry had to expect an enraged outburst soon. And indeed, that was exactly what followed.

"What did you tell them?" his Uncle started, his volume increasing with every word. "Spread lies, didn't you? Told them we wouldn't feed you? Told them, we'd lock you in?"

"No, no," Harry answered swiftly. He shouldn't have informed them at all. "No, it's nothing to do with you. It's just a school thing."

"It doesn't matter," his Uncle stated firmly. "I don't want another one of your kind here in my house! I haven't forgotten the last time they vandalised the living room."

"And traumatised poor Diddikins," Aunt Petunia added.

"She won't come through the fireplace. She won't even come inside. She'll collect me around midday..."

"The freak comes in broad daylight?" Aunt Petunia chimed in, even paler than before. "In front of all the neighbours?"

"She is a distinguished old lady," Harry interjected. "I'm sure nobody will recognise her as a wi--"

"Don't use that word in our house!" bellowed Uncle Vernon.

"I mean, no one will recognise her as - as one of my Professors," Harry corrected himself.

"I don't want her to enter the house," Aunt Petunia started again. A witch was a witch, even if she was a distinguished old one. "I don't want her to enter. If anyone sees her..."

"They won't," Harry answered, his voice stressed, "and she won't enter. I'll wait for her at the door."

"You'll wait outside," his Aunt insisted.

Harry sighed. "I will."

Meanwhile, Uncle Vernon was occupied with another thought, obviously a positive one, as his face seemed to regain its usual colour. "So that means you're gone until next June?"

Harry sighed again. Deep inside he himself still hoped Professor McGonagall's appearance meant an early retreat from Privet Drive, but he knew better. "No, I fear... I think I'll return around lunchtime."

The discussion was finished when Vernon Dursley had to head for Grunnings.

At the scheduled time, Harry sat on the doorsteps of number four waiting for the familiar 'crack' a wizard created while Apparating. The street wasn't noisy, but somewhere a neighbour was mowing with a crackling lawn mower, and a circular saw was screeching nearby, so nobody else would notice the sudden and loud appearance of a woman wearing strange robes and a pointed hat. However, Harry himself was surprised, when, with an indeed quite quiet sound, a cat appeared in front of the house. It was a tabby cat with odd markings around its eyes, a pet he had seen before, but not at Mrs. Figg's.

Astonished, he watched the feline approaching the entrance. It sat down, obviously waiting for something, or for someone to open the door. Considering how Aunt Petunia spoke about the dogs of Aunt Marge, Harry assumed she would murder anyone who let a stray cat inside.

"Shoo." He waved his arms to scare the tabby off. "Shoo, shoo."

The cat didn't seem to be impressed at all. Instead it turned its head and stared at him, while with the tip of her tail impatiently tapping on the ground.

"Shoo, shoo."

The pet raised its eyebrows. Until now Harry hadn't even known that cats had eyebrows. And then, suddenly, very suddenly, his own eyes widened in recognition.

"Erm...," he started, blushing deeply. "Erm... Shall we go inside?"

How do you greet a teacher, how do you greet any wizard in his Animagus form? Surely not with shooing it - her away. Despite the situation his thoughts wandered off... Padfoot...

The cat meowed. Harry's mind snapped back to reality, and he opened the door to let her in. The moment he closed it, the cat transformed.

"Aaaaaaaaah!" screeched a female voice, accompanied by a loud crashing noise.

When Professor McGonagall repaired the splintered porcelain vase with a flick of her wand, Aunt Petunia screamed once more.

A stern voice interrupted the hysterical woman. "Mr. Potter, don't you want to introduce me?"

"Erm..." Harry didn't know how to start. "Aunt Petunia, may I introduce: Professor McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts."

In response Aunt Petunia did something that Harry appreciated very much. She backed out of the hall and hastily retreated into the kitchen, where she locked the door. Audibly.

"To conclude the formalities then," McGonagall said with a cold look at the closed kitchen door, "please offer your Aunt my apologies. I didn't intend to frighten her." She turned to Harry and surveyed him intensely. "Your casual clothing looks rather exceptional. Is this some sort of Muggle style?"

"No, err... not exactly." Harry's cheeks blushed slightly. He hadn't felt ashamed of his clothing since he had entered Hogwarts. "These are hand-me-downs from my cousin."

His teacher eyed him sceptically. "Perhaps, for the task at hand, you might prefer to change into your school robes. And don't forget your wand. You might need it for a little demonstration."

Five minutes and a Muggle-Repelling Charm later both teacher and student were walking along Privet Drive.

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_postet: August 13, 2006  
betaed chapter posted: November 12, 2006 _

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**A/N: **Thank you for your reviews. If you are interested in Trio-Fics have a look at my C2 Community _Harry Ron Hermione._


	4. Chapter 4: Meeting Mark Evans

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, neither Harry, nor the Dursleys.

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**Chapter Four: Meeting Mark Evans**

Harry and his Head of House were walking side by side through Little Whinging in broad daylight. They passed a few Muggles who turned away the moment the duo approached. McGonagall had performed a very effective notice-me-not charm on both of them. It affected even a dog who one moment was barking behind a garden fence and the next disappeared somewhere in the back yard.

Harry knew Professor McGonagall had informed Hermione of the wizarding world, too. He wondered how many students she had to visit each year and asked, "How many Muggle-born attend Hogwarts?"

"About five to ten per year. Seldom more," the teacher answered. "Your age-group has six. They receive special invitation letters, charmed to appear persuasive, so few students reject the offer to enter Hogwarts. If one rejects and doesn't want to attend another magical school either, he and his family are to be obliviated."

"And you're the one to contact them?" Harry continued.

"Usually, yes, I contact them and I introduce them to Diagon Alley as well." She huffed. "Some twenty years ago, I was just promoted Deputy Headmistress, Professor Dumbledore thought it was a brilliant idea to send Rubeus Hagrid. He thought, everyone would believe a half-giant's stories about magic at once." She huffed again. "It was a one-time experiment."

Remembering the Dursleys' reactions when they had met Hagrid, Harry laughed. "He certainly impressed them."

The teacher nodded grimly. "Two families immediately called the police," she confirmed while they entered Magnolia Crescent. "Another called for a phy... a psy... a physiatrist. Afterwards all seven families had to be visited by Dumbledore himself. For three weeks we tried to convince them to allow their children to enter Hogwarts despite Venomous Tentaculas, giant squids, and Thestrals. Two refused entirely."

Knowing Hagrid's affection for dangerous beasts Harry had no problem imaging the stories the half-giant might have told about life at Hogwarts. It was news for him that Hagrid also fancied dangerous plants. On the other hand, who knew what was really about that pumpkin patch behind Hagrid's hut. The pumpkins were always _very_ enormous.

"At that time Dumbledore and I were escorted by selected students to give a first-hand account of their life at Hogwarts. Since then I often ask students to accompany me, especially Muggle-born or half-blood students, who know the Muggle way of life," Minerva McGonagall explained. "Mostly Gryffindors, as I known my own students best, but sometimes also Ravenclaws or Hufflepuffs, if they are living nearby and I know them well."

Of course she wouldn't ask a Slytherin, Harry mused. But why did she choose him? "Why me?"

"You're raised by Muggles. As Hagrid once told me, you, too, didn't know anything about magic before you entered Hogwarts," McGonagall said. "And you live nearby. You might even know him."

His teacher headed for Clematis Avenue, a byroad of Magnolia Crescent, barely worth the notation _avenue_. A few kids were living there but as far as he knew all were older than eleven. When they had passed two residents chatting about some Muggle murder he asked, "Him? A boy? What's his name?"

"Evans. Mark Evans," she answered. "He turned eleven some months ago. He already got his invitation to Hogwarts and he replied he'd like to meet us."

"I dunno ..." Harry hesitated. Evans ... He remembered Mark as one of the kids Dudley and his gang used to bully and beat up. How would the Evans react if Dudley Dursley's criminal cousin rang their bell? "I don't think, it's a good idea. Perhaps I frighten him?"

"Don't be ridiculous," answered McGonagall sternly. "Why should he be frightened? Does he know you?"

"Oh yes, he does," muttered Harry.

"Trust me, everything will be fine," she answered and approached the fourth house on their side of the street. After cancelling the notice-me-not charm she thrice tapped her wand at the door. Three loud booming knocks echoed through the house.

The door was opened by Mr. Evans, Mark's father. Harry stayed behind his teacher in order not to be recognised at once. The witch, however, had other ideas.

"Mr. Evans, I presume? Professor McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. You and your son agreed to meet me." The adults shook hands and then she trusted Harry forward. "I brought one of my students along. Harry Potter, he lives nearby."

Mr. Evans invited them inside and called for his son before he introduced his wife. While they settled down in the living room waiting for Mark he addressed Harry. "Harry Potter? I've heard your name before. Maybe Mark mentioned you once. Where do you live?"

"At Privet Drive," Harry answered reluctantly. He should have informed Professor McGonagall about his 'official' status as attendant of _St. Brutus's Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys_. He should have known that they would know his name and prayed nobody would mention the Dursleys. He hadn't expected that the name of the street was enough to ring some bells.

"Privet Drive," Mr. Evans mused. "Isn't that the street where those horrible kids live? A fat boy and his cousin, the notorious criminal?"

Harry didn't wonder neither that the Evans knew Dudley, for he had bullied Mark on several occasions, nor that they had heard of Dudley's cousin. There was no doubt among the inhabitants of Little Whinging who was the really bad guy at number four, Privet Drive. Aunt Petunia had made sure the story of the Boy-Who-Was-A-Freak spread through the neighbourhood. Professor McGonagall, however, was surprised. Frowning slightly she turned to Harry.

Mr. Evans didn't notice her motion and asked, "What's their name? Dursley it is, isn't it?"

"Yeah, they live at number four," answered Harry but avoided to look at his teacher.

"You see," Mr. Evans turned towards Professor McGonagall, "those kids and their gang have tormented my son and his friends for some years now."

"I've been their victim too, before I entered Hogwarts," Harry interjected, more as an explanation to his teacher than to Mr. Evans.

"Mark comes down in a moment," said Mrs. Evans who entered the living room carrying a tea tray. While setting the table she chimed in the discussion. "They are horrible children, the Dursleys. I've been told by Mrs. Hurst, a neighbour who knows Mrs. Perkins in Wisteria Walk, who heard from Ms. Appleby in Privet Drive number eight, that the nephew attends some school for incurable criminals. Most of the year he's locked away, and he only returns for some weeks during summer. Cream? Sugar?" She offered Harry a cup. "That boy isn't even at home for Christmas."

So far reaching was the influence of Aunt Petunia's gossip. Harry inwardly pleaded for someone to change the subject. He reached for the tea set and nearly spilled its content when the cup started to rattle against the saucer before he even touched it. Mr. and Mrs. Evans exchanged wary looks.

"Well, you notice the cup?" Professor McGonagall quickly interjected with a forced cheerful voice. "It happens sometimes if a minor witch or wizard is slightly nervous. It's called accidental magic and I'm sure your son has experienced similar occurrences."

She surveyed her student. "Harry's just a bit overexcited. _Aren't you, Harry?_" Her contracted eyebrows documented, he would have to face her afterwards.

Mrs. Evans tried to dispel Harry's alleged nervousness and asked politely, "So you are a student at Hogwarts, too?"

Harry nodded. "For five years. I enter sixth year now."

Before Mrs. Evans started her next question an accusing voice sounded from the doorway of the living-room. "You!" Mark Evans was standing in the doorframe glaring at Harry. "You are Harry Potter."

"Hiya, Mark," answered Harry slowly.

Mrs. Evans' eyes wandered between both boys. "You know each other?"

"Of course I know him," Mark answered exasperated. "He's the Potter boy. The cousin of that Dudley Dursley."

"Who?" Mr. Evans exclaimed. "You are ..." The elder Evans gaped. Broken china splintered on the table and spilled its content all over the cloth.

Harry sighed. "Yes, I am." It could have been worse. Luckily it hadn't been his cup of tea that exploded but Mrs. Evans' which had slipped through her fingers. Now entirely calm he stared at the table wondering how Professor McGonagall would deal with the situation. "I'm the so called incurable criminal."

By now Mark seemed to have realised the meaning of the situation. "He's ... he's a student? At Hogwarts?" he asked incredulously.

If he hadn't been involved himself the whole scene might have even been comical, Harry mused, still staring at the table. Creamed tea was steadily dripping on the floor and soaking in the expensive looking carpet.

"Yes, he is," answered McGonagall. "He is one of my own students, one of the best in his year." Not even looking at the mess she flicked her wand, causing the splinters of the former cup reassembling on the saucer. Not even the tiniest fraction was visible and the tea refilled itself, leaving both the tablecloth and the carpet spotless.

"He's a wanted criminal," countered Mr. Evans. "I don't want my son to attend a school together with him."

"I ensure you, Mr. Evans, he is not!" answered McGonagall fiercely. "Mr. Potter is one of the most respected members of our society."

At least at the moment, Harry added silently. The opinion of the wizarding world concerning him changed often and fast enough. Lost in his own thoughts his gaze wandered over the interior. The Evans seemed rather fond of Victorian Style furniture. If everything was as old as it appeared to be, the furnishing was worth a Malfoy.

"Professor." Mr. Evans rose out of his seat. "Perhaps you might want to leave us now."

"Please, Mr. Evans." McGonagall rose, too. "Please, Mr. Evans, let's sit down again. It's probably some sort of misunderstanding."

Harry's eyes wandered back to the table. Mrs. Evans was still sitting stiff as a poker, her wide eyes focussed on her perfectly fine tea set. With trembling fingers she cautiously approached the cup. "You might not want to drink that anymore," he said automatically. "It might taste a bit dusty now."

To his astonishment Mrs. Evans was able to shrill even shriller than Aunt Petunia.

---

"Dusty," huffed Professor McGonagall still shaking her head at such a disrespectful comment.

The delegation of Hogwarts had been thrown out just after the nervous breakdown of Mrs. Evans. Teacher and student were now heading back for Privet Drive where Professor McGonagall would leave Harry.

"Can't you simply obliviate them and start anew?" Harry suggested. "If they won't let Mark enter Hogwarts, they'll be obliviated anyway."

"Mr. Potter! The use of Memory Charms on humans is restricted to official ministry Obliviators." She was audibly displeased. "With good reason, or have you already forgotten Gilderoy Lockhart? And even if they won't let him attend Hogwarts, they still might consider Beauxbatons. So right now there is no need to tamper with their minds."

For some moments they walked in silence side by side until the teacher asked, "So what about the notorious criminal?"

Harry looked ahead. Wasn't it obvious? "What do you think it was?" he asked annoyed. In the distance one of Dudley's friends was crossing the street.

"It's their cover story. Me attending _St. Brutus's Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys_. They think everyone feels sorry for them and looks up to them for housing a criminal that's only their nephew. Perhaps they even think it's funny. But everything they achieve is, everyone believes it's my bad influence that turned Dudley into that fat brute."

Now Professor McGonagall sighed. "Mr. Potter, I know your life with your family is rather complicated."

Harry snorted. "Complicated?" The term wasn't exactly adequate to describe life at Privet Drive. "They don't like me. They hate me. They hate magic. They hate magic with all their heart. And that's why they hate me."

McGonagall looked at him. "Don't you exaggerate a bit?"

"Exaggerate?" Harry's voice became louder. "They think I'm a worthless freak. They think we all are worthless freaks. They threw a fit when I told them you'd visit me today. They fear the neighbours might see you."

On the other side of the street a man in a front garden looked at the odd couple but turned his head away the moment Harry ended his rant. The notice-me-not charm didn't seem to cover loud noise. They turned around a corner and entered Privet Drive.

Professor McGonagall stopped in front of house number eleven and turned to Harry. "Mr. Potter, Professor Dumbledore explained why it is essential that you stay here at least for some weeks." She smiled at him with a sad expression surrounding her eyes. "It is best if I'll leave you now. Mr. Weasley will fetch you in three weeks. Until then you have to stay out of trouble."

Before Harry was able to answer she tapped him with her wand and bid farewell. With a last encouraging nod her form shrunk into an ordinary tabby cat which vanished through a nearby hedge. Later he had to think about her last expression and sudden disappearance. It seemed as if she knew more about his home life than she admitted.

---

Unnoticed by the neighbours Harry reached house number four. Uncle Vernon's car was still absent; he wouldn't return for some hours. Still dressed in his school robe Harry cautiously entered the house and ascended the staircase under which he had lived for nearly nine years. But he wasn't cautiously enough. When he trod on the fifth step it squeaked loud enough to alert Aunt Petunia.

"There you are," she started while emerging the living-room. "What have we told you about that woman? Do not let her in!"

"I didn't know she'd come in disguise," Harry answered. Anger started to boil inside him. His aunt was responsible that the meeting with the Evans had ended in a disaster. It was her fault, it was her endeavour that the neighbours thought of him as a criminal.

"Of course you knew," yelled Aunt Petunia. "You anticipated it. You probably asked her to appear as ... as ...," she struggled for words to describe the abnormalitly, "as freak! You thought you could frighten us with a freak doing that. Wait until I inform Vernon of this. He'll take care of every cat which dares to approach us!"

"Would you've preferred if she arrived as witch? Would you've preferred if the neighbours saw her? Next time I tell her to apparate right in front of Mrs. Staples!" Harry yelled back.

"Oh, no!" Aunt Petunia's voice sounded anxious but it was also dangerously silent. "Oh, no! You don't. I know that your lot isn't allowed to show themselves in front of normal people. Nobody was allowed to know about my dear freak sister. I know that you've to disguise yourself and your abnormality."

'Two more weeks,' Harry thought to calm himself down, 'just two more weeks, and then I'm out here.'

"Now, up to your room!" she commanded while her outstretched arm was pointing upstairs. "And get out of this ... this rags ... before anyone notice you!"

"That's what I'd planned before you stopped me," Harry retorted.

"And stay there for the rest of the day. No dinner this evening."

"As if I've asked for dinner the other day," he mumbled to himself, silently enough not to risk breakfast next morning.

Harry entered his room where Hedwig was perched in her cage. The owl was sleeping with her head tucked in the feathers. She startled when a floorboard creaked but returned to sleep the moment she noticed who just had disturbed her. The boy opened the lid of his trunk to stuff his school robe but then he paused. Holding the robe in his hand he stood in front the trunk and stared at the content. There on top of his school things lay his Firebolt. Oh, how much he missed soaring through the air hunting for the snitch at a reckless speed ...

Harry spent the evening on his bed, trying hard to concentrate on a letter from Hermione. She had dedicated several paragraphs on her upcoming vacation somewhere in Europe. Another thing he had never done with the Dursleys. The rare occasions his relatives had spent the holidays elsewhere he had been placed at Mrs. Figg's. The whole incident with Mark Evans had annoyed him so much that his mind wasn't even preoccupied with the prophecy anymore but with his life at Privet Drive.

After dinner, when his relatives had settled down in the living room, Harry slowly headed downstairs. Both Dursleys were absorbed in the news about some Muggle murder nearby and Dudley was still roaming around Little Whinging 'to socialise' as his parents firmly believed. Covered by the invisibility cloak Harry left the house hoping that Mundungus Fletcher was on guard duty now. But he didn't care much. One day or another they would detect him anyway. With Moody being able to look through the cloak it was only a matter of time.

As usual he headed for the park. During holidays only few kids played there, either because they were on holidays with their family, or because Dudley Dursley and his goons were not on holidays but on the loose. This time of day only some elder boys, three members of Dudley's gang, hung around the seesaw. Harry thought about a way to get rid of them soon. He could hardly mount the swing, neither in disguise, nor visible as long as they were present. If only he could use some magic. Okay, he wasn't allowed to hex them but nobody would complain if he threw some stones, or would they?

As if three of them weren't enough Piers Polkiss and Dudley himself appeared. Watching Dudley and his gang Harry was musing about the similarities between them and Draco Malfoy and his goons but finally he snorted. At least Malfoy was slightly intelligent and, as Ginny once had stated (of course while Ron was absent), the blonde had a nice butt. Harry doubted Ginny would say the same about walrus Dudley Dursley.

Harry kneeled down beside a bush and looked for some more or better less small stones or something similar to throw. The situation was most eligible to humiliate Dudley in front of his friends. Not that Duddidums had tried to offend Harry this year. In contrary, remembering the incident with the Dementors a year ago he fled frightened every time Harry came near him. The wizard was amused by his behaviour, a Heavyweight Inter-School Boxing Champion afraid of a short skinny flyweight with a 'stick'. To intimidate him even further Harry had made sure Dudley didn't forget that event. One chilly night he, covered by his cloak, had approached his cousin and had started to loudly imitate the slow, rattling breath of a Dementor. Dudley nearly died on the spot.

Looking over towards the group of rowdies Harry weighed a clump in his hand. The imbecile bonehead and his friends were responsible for the fiasco with the Evans as much as Aunt Petunia. The other boys were just laughing about an absurd joke of Dudley and Harry wondered if they would soon laughing about their leader. He was just about to throw the stone right at Dudley's head when an owl hooted nearby. It was slowly descending from the sky as if looking for something – or someone. The bird, a middle sized, brown owl of a specimen Harry didn't knew, hooted again. Heading straight for him it landed on the backrest of the nearest bench. Tied to its left leg was a small roll of parchment.

"Damnit," Harry muttered to himself. Despite his invisibility cloak the birds were able to locate him and the Order's anti-owl charms just covered Privet Drive. Even worse: if one owl had found him here, others would follow soon. He had learned this on his first week back at Little Whinging. It seemed as if the owls were able to communicate with each other and the bird's hooting was saying, "Hey pals, I've found him. The target's just standing right in front of me."

"Look over there," one of Dudley's followers exclaimed pointing at the owl. "Look that bird there on the bench." Gordon was his name, if Harry remembered him correctly.

The group turned around and approached the owl who hooted again and stretched its leg towards Harry.

"It's an owl," another boy said. "And it has something tied to her leg."

As Harry had predicted a second owl landed beside the first, a smaller one, carrying a tiny parcel.

"Hey, we might have some fun with them," the first boy, Gordon, suggested. He stepped forward and reached for the smaller owl.

"Stop!" Dudley whispered fiercely, his face noticeably pale. "Don't get near them!"

Harry smirked when Dudley's goons gaped at their leader.

"Are you afraid of two small birds?" one mocked him.

One of the owls hooted again and got a response from an unseen source. Harry looked up. Three more were circling high above the park.

"NO!" Dudley hissed, wildly looking around. "No. I ... I mean ... they might be rabid, if they come near people."

Just then the next one landed on the armrest of the bench. And another. And one more. And another couple now perched on the slide. Hooting loudly all seven birds were engrossed in a discussion about the addressee of their post.

"What about the stuff at their legs?" Gordon interjected. "They're messenger pigeons or something."

Immediately the hooting stopped. All meanwhile eight birds turned their heads to the boy and stared at him like predators calculating their prey. Now Harry knew what to do if he should ever want to annoy Hedwig.

Now Piers looked wary, too. "Have you ever watched Hitchcock's The Birds?" he asked unsettled. The others nodded and slowly backed away from the bench. "It started the same way ..."

Harry didn't know about the birds of that Hitchcock but they had obviously impressed the others. When the gang retreated to a corner of the park Harry followed. Hopping from bench to bench by now ten owls trailed him while hooting more and more impatiently.

"Don't run," Piers whispered. "They might attack us if we move too fast."

But then an impressive, dark eagle owl swept barely inches above them, the tips of its wide outstretched wings almost touching their heads. The five boys turned on their heels and ran for their lives towards Magnolia Road. Harry followed as close as possible as did a swarm of at least fourteen birds. Eventually he couldn't hold himself anymore and started to laugh. Hindered by his cloak and his own laughter the boy stopped running and watched the others disappear around the next corner.

Harry knew he would not be able to shake the owls off before he entered Privet Drive so he headed homewards. Dusk was settling down but the sky was still bright enough for some pedestrians to notice the strange behaviour of the owls. It would probably make a headline in the Daily Prophet but what should he do against a bunch of owls without using magic? When Harry turned around the last corner and approached house number four the birds fluttered away one by one disoriented circling high above the street and finally heading elsewhere. The last one to leave was the one who had found him first. Perhaps its magic was stronger than that of its colleagues.

Arriving at number four Harry found the whole house completely locked. Even the back door of the kitchen was barricaded. His only chance to enter was to ring. First and last time the Dursleys had reacted like this was after his first Hogwarts letter had appeared. Something must have happened that had shaken them deeply and the boy wondered _what_ Dudley had told them about the events at the park. Of course they would know it was connected with him; all owls had carried post. Inhaling a deep breath and preparing for the inevitable encounter with his Uncle Harry's index finger slowly approached the button of the doorbell.

Stoically enduring the loud lecture of Uncle Vernon concerning Professor McGonagall, him ignoring his Aunt's orders, and wild stories about a bunch of ruddy owls attacking Dudley he also learned the reason for their behaviour. There was a Muggle mass murderer haunting Britain. His last victims had been a family in Surrey who had lived not even ten miles away and that story frightened the Dursleys far more than a freak and his post owls.

* * *

_posted: September 11, 2006_

* * *

**A/N: **Thank you for your reviews. If you are interested in Trio-Fics have a look at my C2 Community _Harry Ron Hermione._


	5. Chapter 5: Last Days at Privet Drive

**Disclaimer:** I don't own nothing, nada, njetski, nichts, except perhaps some plot-ideas.

**Chapter 5: Last Days at Privet Drive**

Days and nights at Privet Drive followed the same routine for several weeks now. The mass murderer seemed to move northwards; the next victims had been families in an unpronounceable Welsh village and later in Aberdeen. Out of immediate danger, as Uncle Vernon put it, the Dursleys didn't lock the whole house up any more, so Harry was able to resume his nightly strolling. Meanwhile Ron and Hermione steadily showered him with letters describing their daily life. Spending her vacations somewhere in Europe Hermione even sent some Muggle postcards. Harry was astonished that even Ron was spending so much time willingly on writing. But he was also disgruntled that they evidently and deliberately omitted everything that would upset him.

Some days after the confrontation with the Evans his O.W.L. results came in. He had passed seven O.W.L.s and he had only two subjects failed, History of Magic and Divination. He had even managed to pass Potions, more, he had passed with Exceeds Expectations! He had feared to fail Potions; in the back of his mind he had been certain to fail at least the practical exam. So an E was brilliant, wasn't it?

His grade in Potions occupied his mind for a while. An E was indeed brilliant. However, Snape required an Outstanding grade if one wanted to attend N.E.W.T.-level Potions. A N.E.W.T. in Potions was required if one wanted to apply for Auror. That had been his dream job since fourth year. He and Ron had pictured themselves as Mad-Eyes Potter and Weasley, the toughest Aurors since Alastor Moody. Including the magical eye, but perhaps except the wooden leg. Defeating dark wizards, that they had done since their first year at Hogwarts.

Of course, Harry tried to soothe the disappointment. Perhaps he was good enough to become a professional Quidditch player; at least the Chudley Cannons desperately needed a decent Seeker. And then there was Voldemort. It was doubtful if he would live long enough to finish Hogwarts, so why bother about a future career? But the frustration didn't leave him until Pigwidgeon delivered a copy of Ron's result the next day. At least they stuck together, and Ron didn't seem to be disappointed at all.

It was during these days that Harry's scar started to prickle again. Since the fiasco in the Ministry he hadn't felt anything. Now a prickling or a slight burning pestered him more and more often. Why did it start just now? Had Voldemort been affected by the duel with Dumbledore? Or even by his attempt to possess Harry? Had he been injured and had needed to recover since then? Was this the starting point for Voldemort's ultimate defeat? Or had Harry just missed his only chance ever to overcome him?

Still nightmares haunted his sleep, nightmares dealing with the inevitable final encounter with Voldemort, displays of dead people who had been murdered because he hadn't finished off Voldemort yet, flashes of Voldemort 'dealing' with his minions - real occurrences or arisen from his own fantasy, he didn't know.

Nevertheless Harry started to analyse his dreams or visions, randomly at first, but then his research became more and more methodical. Hermione would have been proud. When he awoke he went through his memory and wrote down everything he had seen or heard, if he remembered anything at all. He looked for every hint on Voldemort's lair and any possible weakness of his opponent and the Death Eaters. He listed every name and place and tried to sketch the locations he had 'visited'. Even if he had only a faint recollection, he racked his brains for every detail which might help him later when confronting his foe. Either must die at the hand of the other ... He would at least try to take Voldemort down.

---

Some more days later the situation at Privet Drive escalated again. The morning started as a usual Dursleyish breakfast with its established tradition of Harry berating and the deep-rooted ritual of government bashing. These days Uncle Vernon loudly complained about the lack of security measures by the county with a mass murderer running havoc. The victims weren't just murdered but slaughtered and it seemed as if the murderer or more likely murderers had been toying with their victims.

Once more Harry was remembered of his destiny. Those _murders_ certainly bore the hallmarks of Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Harry's thoughts, however, were distracted by the arrival of some owls, each with a stack of parchment in their claws. With their beaks each bird yanked one parchment out of its pack and dropped it. Before anyone could react they took off again and left through the open kitchen window. Troublesome enough that the owls appeared during breakfast, but one of them deliberately dropped its post on Uncle Vernon's plate before zooming back out.

Harry's gaze wandered from his own batch of official looking leaflets to his relatives. Aunt Petunia sat frozen on her chair staring at her husband. Uncle Vernon hadn't said anything yet; he was still baffled by the sheet on his plate. _INFORMATION FOR MUGGLE-PARENTS OF HOGWARTS-STUDENTS _read its caption followed by _How to protect your family against Dark Forces._ Beneath the headlines it showed a picture of a serious looking Ministerial seated behind a huge desk in an even larger office. Another Ministerial appeared and handed the first some documents for signing. Moments later the subaltern vanished with the signed papers only to reappear with a tea tray. Harry narrowed his eyes. The subaltern was definitely redheaded and bespectacled.

With wide eyes his Uncle was staring onto the leaflet. By now breakfast was forgotten. "The ... the picture ... the persons ... they are moving ...," he muttered. It took him some seconds to catch himself. Then he turned to Harry and asked with a ferocious voice, "What does this mean, boy?"

But his voice didn't match his face and intuitively Harry knew how to play him. It was nearly the same situation as last year.

"Remember Lord Voldemort I mentioned last year?" he asked calmly. "The Ministry of ... well, the Ministry has acknowledged his return. And now, I think, they advise you how to deal with the situation and how to protect yourself."

Wondering _what_ the Ministry recommended he reached for the leaflet on Dursley's plate only to have it snapped out of his hand at once.

Uncle Vernon studied the text with a disgusted expression. "So we should stock with garlic, against vampires?" he asked unbelievingly. "And keep silver kitchenware with us, against werewolves?"

Harry's eyes widened. Had the werewolves sided with Voldemort? Had the Ministry started a manhunt now? What about Remus Lupin?

"Preposterous!" Dursley bellowed. "Preposterous! That's a walloping lie from one of your kind to scare us to death, isn't it?" His fist banged on the table. "Do they really think we are that stupid to believe in vampires and werewolves and zombies?"

Zombies? Harry knew the term from one of those spooky video tapes Dudley hid in his room, but he had never heard of zombies in the wizarding world. He didn't even know what exactly they were. Some sort of Undead? "Ask Aunt Petunia," he answered. "There must have been a similar advice when my Mum attended Hogw - "

"DON'T MENTION THE FREAK SCHOOL OF YOURS IN MY HOUSE!" Uncle Vernon yelled at once.

"Petunia." He turned to his wife and chuckled pompously. "Are there werewolves? Or even vampires?"

"I ... there ... " she stammered anxiously but was interrupted by the sudden appearance of Dudley.

"Whuzz going on here?" his cousin asked curiously. He wasn't fully awake yet, rubbing his eyes and still clad in his pyjamas. Harry dreaded the day he would inherit those, especially the bottoms. The fabric was large enough to cover him twice. He briefly marvelled that nobody had noticed a mammoth stomping down the staircase.

"Nothing Duddidums, go back to sleep," his mother replied in a sickening sweet voice Harry could see how she struggled to retain her composure.

Dudley needed some time for the situation to finally sink in. His gaze wandered between his parents and Harry and the breakfast table. He was torn between the chance to stuff some food and the urge to flee something that certainly had to do with the forbidden m-word. The rest of the family paused and stared at him awaiting his decision between safety and nourishment. Hunger was greater than fear, at least for a moment. Dudley approached the table, grabbed for the plate with the sausages and hurriedly left the kitchen.

"Petunia?" Uncle Vernon started anew. This time his voice quivered slightly.

Harry eyed his aunt as expectantly as his uncle.

"Vernon ..." she answered weakly, "there were ... I remember ..."

Harry didn't even let her finish. Triumphantly he turned towards his uncle. "You see!"

"Wipe the grin from your face, boy," Dursley bellowed. "It's you they're after, not us. So, there's one simple thing to protect us. If they're coming we'll hand you over."

"Vernon," his wife began, but she was interrupted by her nephew.

"Well," Harry retorted, "you might try. But I _am_ protected. By whatever for a charm Dumbledore placed on me. As is Aunt Petunia. Probably. And Dudley, too. It's based on my mum. Voldemort can't even touch me."

The latter was a downright lie. Voldemort had proven the contrary right after his resurrection. But how should some ignorant Muggles know about that? I wasn't as if Dumbledore informed them about his adventures, or did he?

"You know, when he murdered my parents, he actually tried to kill me. My mum sacrificed her life to save me and that sacrifice still saves me today. It's connected to my last blood relatives and protects them as well. As long as I am accepted as their relative." His eyes met Uncle Vernon's. "And my last blood relatives are Aunt Petunia and Dudley. You are only an in-law."

That part was indeed true. Whatever the sacrifice of his mother had caused, whatever effect still was in force despite Voldemort's creepy ritual, it surely didn't include Vernon Dursley.

"And as long as I stay here the house is watched by some wiz ... by some friends of mine who guard me."

"Your people are out there?" Aunt Petunia asked sharply. "All the time? Even in broad daylight?"

"They are disguised," Harry replied. "Nobody notices them; no one will ever see them."

"They are spying on us!" Uncle Vernon exclaimed loudly.

"No, they don't," the boy raised his voice to the same volume. "They are protecting me and all of you." He partly doubted his own answer. They surely were spying or at least monitoring him. Who else had informed Dumbledore about his wanderings?

"They watch ...," Harry took a deep breath to compose himself, "they guard this house as long as I'm staying. And that's just some more days. Then they're gone."

"They're watching us?" Vernon Dursley suddenly lowered his voice to a more civilised level. "As long as you're staying here?" The throbbing vein in his temple demonstrated how much he had to force himself to stay calm. "Petunia," he turned to his wife and whispered loudly, " close the window, at once."

Aunt Petunia leapt to her feet and hurried over to the kitchen window. Closing it she cautiously peeked through the curtains.

Now Harry knew both feared the guards might hear them, and inwardly he smirked. "Yeah," he answered and added again, "as long as I'm staying." Perhaps he might even be forced to leave some days early.

"And," his uncle peered down on the leaflet, "and if we throw ... if we allow you to leave with your lot ..."

"Then they're gone, too," Harry affirmed, pleased with the result of the dispute. Now they would do everything to get rid of him as soon as possible.

"Okay. Okay," Dursley answered. Slowly but steadily it finally sunk in. "So they remove their ... the guards the moment you leave for those redheads?"

Harry nodded. "You won't be bothered until next Summer. I promise." He really should start to pack his trunk.

---

Seven O.W.L.s. Ron was lost in astonishment, when he received his O.W.L.-results. He had passed _seven_ exams. In Potions he had even exceeded not only his own expectations but also the expectations of the examiners. He wouldn't be allowed to further attend Snape's class with his mark, but he had never really believed he would achieve the required 'Outstanding'. Sadly, without Potions he couldn't become Auror so nothing with Mad-Eye Weasley at the side of Mad-Eye Potter. The bright side, he wouldn't have to deal with Snape anymore and that alone was worth a feast.

Seven O.W.L.s. More O.W.L.s than Fred and George together. Although Ron frowned when he remembered the twins _had_ attended Snape's advanced Potions class in their sixth and seventh year. So they both must have achieved 'Outstandings'. But those two had concentrated only on three subjects instead of nine, like Harry and he. Ron knew the twins had planned their career ages ago. Indeed their Potions skills were above average and now their love-potions were moneyspinners.

His parents were delighted when they learned about the results. Molly Weasley immediately started to plan Ron's career at the Ministry of Magic with a first job as assistant of his dad and then heading right for the top of the Ministry. The atmosphere cooled somewhat down, when she suggested he might even get some support from P... Luckily the twins weren't present.

Seven O.W.L.s! What one might achieve with seven O.W.L.s? Head Boy! Together with Hermione as Head Girl! Ron's elation lasted for some days which he spent lying at the pond or elsewhere, envisioning his brilliant future. At first Head Boy and then ... Perhaps indeed a top job at the Ministry, with a huge salary and loads of minions to obey him. Or he might start his own business like the twins, inventing and selling loads of stuff. Or he might even become an Unspeakable at the Department of Mysteries, researching most complex and mysterious things.

And back at home there was a loving wife caring for their five or so children. Yeah, five. Without a Percy and with only one twin. In a huge manor. With a huge park. With an all year all weather Quidditch pitch. And the weekends he would drag Harry and Hermione to all matches of the Chudley Cannons. And afterwards they'd celebrate their overwhelming victories. With lots of Firewhisky. And later they would return to the manor. Where their loving wives had prepared a wonderful dinner.

Ah, well. There was the rub.

The part with the loving wife caring for the manor.

Well, there was Hermione ... When ... if ... when she was caring for the children he couldn't drag her to the Quidditch matches.

Wouldn't matter - he'd see her every day anyway.

But then he didn't even know if she was able to cook.

Bah, that was no problem at all. She was brilliant in Potions, that was nearly the same as cooking, wasn't it? If it came to this she'd learn it in no time. Hermione was able to learn everything, wasn't she? Perhaps his Mum could teach her. And it was the task of a loving wife to care for the children. While it was a husband's task to earn the living, wasn't it? Well, at least sort of.

Those days when Ron pictured the rest of his life this was the point when he sighed. The biggest problem he'd have to face would be to come up with an appropriate name for the manor.

---

Some days later Deputy Headmistress McGonagall visited the Burrow to announce that neither Ron nor Ginny should leave the premises. To their mother's delight both had to quit the job at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes and spend the whole time together at home. Molly Weasley made it quite clear that she still didn't fully accept Fred and George's choice of career and would keep the twins from corrupting her youngest children, too. Albeit the joke shop was a profitable business it was one without any reputation. Now, backed up by Professor McGonagall, she pretended it was solely a matter of security. Her children should be protected from the dangers, they might have to face in Diagon Alley.

The following two weeks became really boring and Ron itched for the arrival of Harry and Hermione. To keep the children in line their mother occupied them with degnoming the garden, weeding the herb beds, and harvesting the vegetables. While over the years Ginny had acquired a liking for gardening Ron detested it with all his heart. But at least it was something to do. Without the twins even Quidditch was no fun. With only two players they couldn't do anything else than simply passing the Quaffle. Chess wasn't an option either. As Ginny lost nearly all chess matches spectacularly the chessmen refused to obey her, and eventually she refused to join in. Finally Ron was so bored that he unsolicited started working on the assigned homework.

He once even thought of starting to write down some of his visions.No dream diary, he told himself. Only some sheets of paper. Hermione was interested in these stories and perhaps she could dig out something useful. Perhaps with his notes she would find some more information about that stuff inside his head elsewhere. But then ... no! He would never follow an idea of both Trelawney and Hermione.

Near the end of July Ron and Bill prepared Fred's and George's old room for Harry. Altogether it was a dangerous task. The whole Weasley family had refused to enter the room since the twins had become of age and had started to practice magic. They all suspected or rather expected the room to be heavily warded against 'intruders'. Indeed Fred and George had reputedly forgotten to remove some of their quite nasty precautions when they moved to Diagon Alley. For Ron this was a chance to gain first-hand insight into the job of a curse breaker and Bill demonstrated how to detect and break hidden charms and cursed objects.

Within two days they cleared the room of various traps and several dubious objects, probably untested joke products. The eldest Weasley was impressed by the complex spellwork the twins had performed; most of it was far beyond N.E.W.T. level. Afterwards one side of the room was still filled with stacks of different sized cardboard boxes, some labelled 'Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes', but both beds were useable now without that every non-twin was gagged and tied up to the mattress by the blankets.

Now Ron looked forward to the arrival of his friends. His father would pick up Harry at the end of the week, and Hermione, who just returned from her vacations with her parents, should arrive some days later. However, Ron's cheerful mood was seriously spoiled when a letter from Hermione arrived stating that this summer she wasn't allowed to visit the Burrow.

---

The last days at Privet Drive were astonishingly peaceful, and both Dursleys avoided to yell or shout at him. As that was very hard to accomplish they tried to avoid him as much as possible. Still, they charged him with various tasks, but they assured he wasn't seen from the street, assuming that the invisible guards were placed in front of the house.

Harry didn't rightly know if he waited for the day to leave or if he dreaded that date. Of course, he was raring to leave the Dursleys as soon as possible. He was really disappointed that they didn't try to throw him out early. On the other hand he would have to confront Ron and Hermione and Ginny and all the other Weasleys face to face. It was pure luck that his friends were still alive. If only he had listened to Hermione ...

When he looked through the ministerial flyers he soon realised that most of their advises were totally useless and absurd. Obviously there was a new Minister for Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour, who intended to present himself as a man of action. With his own picture plastered on the front those leaflets were nothing more than a campaign for himself and the new policy of the Ministry of Magic.

The most stupid was the sheet for Muggle-parents. Indeed one should carry silver forks and knifes against rampaging werewolves, and matches to fend off zombies, the Muggle term for Inferi. Harry had to look through several of his school books until he learned that Inferi were walking dead, animated corpses, bewitched by dark wizards to follow their bidding. Without a soul and already dead they feared nothing than warmth and heat. However Muggle matchsticks were surely not able to defeat them and he doubted those leaflets would calm any Muggle down.

Friday morning Uncle Vernon greeted Harry with the question, "Your folks' coming today to get you?"

The boy wasn't surprised that his uncle was interested in this particular date. "Yeah, seven o'clock this evening. Oh - the guards will be withdrawn by then."

In response Uncle Vernon mumbled something and hid behind the newspaper.

Harry didn't know if Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix really would leave the Dursleys without any protection. It didn't matter. The Muggles wouldn't be able to notice even an army of wizards if they were hidden well enough. Over the day he packed his trunk, or rather he stuffed everything he wouldn't dare to leave at Privet Drive. Deep down, below a layer of old underwear, he hid his notes concerning Voldemort. Whoever might look through his things would stop beforehand.

Meanwhile Hedwig was flying ahead to the Burrow on her own. It was bad enough Harry himself would have to endure the Portkey but he didn't want his owl to suffer, too. In the evening he dragged his luggage downstairs and now he was resting on his trunk, waiting for the arrival of his 'rescue team' and pondering how to handle the upcoming meeting with his friends.

Five minutes to seven someone knocked at the door. Harry drew his wand and cautiously opened. Three persons stood outside, Arthur Weasley, Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks. All three wore casual Muggle clothes and Tonks even forewent her jazzy hair colour.

"Hello Harry," said Mr. Weasley, his wand pointing at Harry. "Before we enter - how did you arrive at the Burrow before the Quidditch World cup?"

Harry remembered those questions were one of the security measures recommended by the Ministry to avoid being tricked by an impostor. "By Floo. You blasted the electric fireplace apart." He thought a moment before he asked in return, "And what happened with my cousin Dudley when you picked me up?"

Lowering his wand, Mr. Weasley frowned, clearly reminding the Ton-Tongue Toffee Fred and George 'accidentally' dropped in front of the boy. "His tongue grew pretty long."

Now Harry lowered his wand, too, and motioned them to enter.

"Wotcher, Harry," Tonks came in and eyed him warily. "In those rags you look even worse than usual."

The scene was interrupted by Uncle Vernon entering the hall, followed by his wife.

"There's no need for you lot to assemble here," he welcomed the wizards and the witch. "Take the boy and leave. And draw your spies off. We don't need your protection."

Ignoring the Dursleys Remus Lupin addressed the boy, "Hello Harry. How did they treat you this summer?"

"It was ok," Harry answered, "though ..."

"Don't you dare lie to them," Vernon Dursley hurled at him but immediately he was interrupted by Tonks.

"Well, Harry doesn't look as if you fed him adequately," she stated, "and we know you kept him working for you."

"We knew you spied on us," retorted Aunt Petunia acidly. "He claimed you'd guard us. He said you'd protect us. But in fact you were spying on us all the summer."

"Mrs. Dursley," Arthur Weasley started politely, "we don't have much time to discuss this now. We'll be gone in a few minutes."

"Take him and go back to that ruddy school of yours," Dursley answered loudly, "but get out at once."

"Okay, serves me well," Tonks replied smirking and reached for Harry's trunk. "We'll wait for departure just in front of your house."

Harry got the impression she knew it would upset his relatives, and indeed both reacted as expected. The colour of Uncle Vernon's slightly tanned face slowly changed towards a dark shade of purple, while Aunt Petunia paled even further.

"No you won't," Dursley exclaimed. "I'll call the police, if you linger in front of our house."

"I don't think you will do that," answered Lupin softly while wielding his wand. "I even think you'd like us to stay here in the hall just for some more minutes."

Aunt Petunia hid behind the voluminous build of her husband and peeked over his shoulder.

Uncle Vernon, on the other hand, tried to object again. "Now see here, you can't just use your thingy on us."

"Who said we would use magic on you?" For some seconds Tonks glared at the couple, and then, all of a sudden, she opened her mouth for a wide grin. Even Harry flinched when she exposed four enormous pointed fangs.

Both Dursley hastily retreated to the living room and slammed the door. The Metamorphmagus turned to Harry. "Learned noffing, fe last ti'e we'et, did fey? Unfleasant as ever."

Suddenly she winced, "Oww." She shrank her teeth back to normal and winced again. "I think I pricked my lower lip."

While Tonks was fumbling at her mouth, Mr. Weasley was rummaging in his Muggle clothes. "Ah, here it is," he announced and proudly presented a battered plug with some inches of wire. "Here is the Portkey. Officially approved and engrossed by the Ministry of Magic."

Tonks smirked. "And who chose this particular object? Stadson, the clerk?"

"Oh, no," he answered. "I provided the plug myself. It's one of the finest I've found so far." He turned to Harry and asked conspiratorially, "Do you think your uncle minds if I just plug it somewhere here? Just for once?"

"Err ... I don't think that's such a great idea," the boy answered. After all the loose end of the attached wire was bare.

"He's right, Arthur," Remus Lupin interjected. "The Muggle electricity might interfere with its magic. - And," he added with a glimpse at his watch, "we just have five more minutes."

"Oh, okay, I see," Arthur Weasley was visibly disappointed and placed the Portkey on a side table.

"Okay, then," he said. "Please assemble around the plug. And Harry, you need to keep hold of your trunk."

With one hand Harry grabbed the handle of his trunk and Tonks reached for Hedwig's cage.

While Mr. Weasley kept tab on his watch, Remus Lupin explained, "You see, Harry, all official Portkeys are timed. So the Department of Magical Transportation is able to keep track of them."

"One minute left," Mr. Weasley announced and commanded, "everyone get hold of the Portkey."

Four outstretched fingers touched the plug and its wire, while he was counting down.

And then, suddenly, something tugged behind Harry's navel and hauled him forward. The trunk tore at his arm and his fingers, and he desperately clutched the handle not to lose it on their journey through the vortex of swirling colours. The trip lasted barely a minute - for Harry it felt like an eternity until he and his trunk crashed down right in front of the Burrow. Portkey travels were nearly as bad as floo-powdered chimney sweeping.

* * *

_posted: November 11, 2006_

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**A/N: **If real life doesn't interfere I'll be able to post Chapter Six in five weeks.  
Next chapter you'll read about Harry and Ron at the Burrow. 

If you are interested in Trio-Fics, please have a look at my C2 Community _Harry Ron Hermione_.

Thank you for your reviews.


	6. Chapter 6: Arriving at the Burrow

Disclaimer: I don't even own the computer to write this.

**Chapter 6: Arriving at the Burrow**

On Wednesday, July 31, Harry's birthday, Ron sent Harry only a small note, informing the friend that he looked forward to present him his birthday gift personally. The redhead had never been inventive when choosing birthday gifts or Christmas presents, but this year with his former job at the joke shop he was able to spend some more money than before. Together with Ginny he had bought an international standard Golden Snitch at Quality Quidditch Supplies.

Friday evening, August 2, Ron, Ginny, and their mother waited for Harry's arrival. Ron knew that Harry didn't like to be in the centre of attention and while Mrs. Weasley and Ginny had intended to organise a rather large birthday party for this evening he had finally been able to convince them to reduce their efforts on an only small feast. Nevertheless, both witches had invited nearly all Weasley children except Charly, who was still in Romania, but including Fleur Delacour, Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks. The latter two would pick up Harry together with Arthur Weasley per officially authorised Portkey.

At seven p.m. the Weasley Family clock chimed and Mr. Weasley's clockhand switched from 'at work' to 'travelling'. Another sixteen minutes elapsed before the clock chimed again, announcing that Mr. Weasley was 'at home'. And indeed a moment later someone knocked.

"They're coming," squeaked Ginny and Ron hurried to the front door. Through the window he saw four persons standing outside the Burrow, Arthur Weasley, Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks and black-haired boy with spectacles. Ron opened and flinched at the sight of Harry, the pale, lean face with dark bags hanging under the green eyes, and far to wide shirt and trousers sagging off the even skinnier looking body. Within five weeks Harry's physical appearance had lost much of the boy who had led them into the Department of Mysteries. And his eyes, the most striking attribute of his face except for the lightening-bolt scar, had lost their blaze and their brightness.

"Hi mate," said Ron. Ginny didn't say anything at all, she was surely taken aback by the appearance of their friend.

"Hi," answered Harry, audibly relieved to enter the Burrow.

Hesitating a moment Ron started again, "Happy Birthday to you."

"Thank you." Harry took the outstretched hand and smiled, at least slightly.

"Happy birthday, dear." Molly Weasley appeared at the door to welcome their guests and looked him over closely. "We really should do something about your clothing. Perhaps Diagon Alley - "

She was interrupted by the three adults entering the house. Initial hellos where shortened when the attention turned to Tonks just in time to watch her stumbling over the doorstep with Hedwig's cage loudly crashing down on the floor.

"Ah, well, where shall we leave the luggage?" asked Remus Lupin joyfully, with his wand manoeuvring the floating trunk. Ron couldn't suppress a grin when Tonks tried to lean against it and stumbled once more.

"Perhaps you two might bring it upstairs and show Harry his room?" Arthur Weasley addressed his children rather ordering than suggesting.

Ron didn't need a second call to leave the scene and clapped on Harry's shoulder. "C'mon. You'll sleep in the twins' old room." Tonks handed the owl cage to Ginny and both boys took the trunk. The room was on the second floor, opposite Percy's old room, which now was used as a bedroom for occasional guests – often members of the Order of the Phoenix.

When Harry looked around his new accommodation, Ron could tell that his friend felt uneasy.

"Hey. It's okay. Bill cleared the room of all that dangerous crap, the twins had left behind," he said to reassure the other.

Ginny grinned when Harry cautiously touched the bedsheets. "Before you lay down you should know what the blankets did until Bill finished them off." She put the cage on a desk near the opened window, waiting for Hedwig's arrival.

"You have your own desk, a wardrobe and you can lock yourself in, if something bothers you," explained Ron, "Ginny does it all the time."

"I have to," she answered annoyed. "Ron pries about the letters I write to Dean."

"I don't pry."

"Yes, you do!"

"No, I don't!"

"But you did!"

"Only once when you left them lying around!"

The quarrel was interrupted when Mrs. Weasley called from downstairs, "Ginny, could you please set the table?"

Grumbling the girl left the room. On the doorstep she turned around and blew a raspberry at Ron before heading downstairs.

Scowling, Ron closed the door behind her and turned to Harry. "She switches from boyfriend to boyfriend as if it's nothing," he complained. "And Dean just jumped in on the chance."

Ron knew he exaggerated; Dean Thomas was her second boyfriend by now. As far as he knew - but she once was even dating Neville. Why couldn't she wait until Harry took notice of her? This summer was ideal to set those two up, but Ginny was writing to the git almost daily. She even 'borrowed' Pigwidgeon to deliver her love letters, of course without asking beforehand, and that traitorous beast seemed quite happy about it. The bird delivered the responses secretly to her room instead to the kitchen like every normal post owl did.

"So how was your summer with the Muggles?" he asked, while Harry was inspecting the wardrobe.

Harry shrugged. "It didn't differ from last summer." He opened his trunk and started to unpack his clothes.

"Wait, let me help you." Ron approached the trunk and inspected the content.

"Don't let Mum see that," he said and pulled a rumpled robe out of the chaos. Harry grabbed it and stuffed it into the wardrobe not even trying to smooth it out.

"Did you get any news?" Ron asked while unwrapping an outworn trainer rolled up in a shirt wide enough to house a magical tent. "I mean, about You-Know-Who and the rest?" Holding the shoelace between thumb and index finger he let the trainer dangling in eye height. "Where is its counterpart?"

"Ron!" Harry snatched the shoe and sighed, "I didn't even get the Daily Prophet." With a bitter undertone he added, "the Order warded the Dursleys' against all unknown owls."

"Me neither," the redhead replied while looking for the other trainer. "At least not much. Mum tries to keep everything from us. Dad disagrees but who is he to go against our Mum." He pulled Harry's scarlet Quidditch robe out of a clump of crumpled parchments and old socks. "Here, look. This you should better take care of. You'll need it this year."

Harry reached for it and placed it with the other school robes. He seemed to be slightly over the edge, Ron mused, while further rummaging through the trunk extracting some pairs of huge trousers.

He smoothed them out and hung them over a stool, critically eyeing the wide backside. "Besides your robes, is anything in there that fits you at least half decently?"

"Only the last Weasley Jumper," the other teen answered. "Perhaps a bit too woolly at the moment." He slovenly folded the outworn hand-me-downs he had 'inherited' from Dudley and stuffed them in a shelf of the wardrobe.

Ron piled Harry's old schoolbooks on the desk but stopped when he reached a layer of definitely oversized underwear. "Err, Harry? You may unload the rest by yourself."

When they eventually returned downstairs, the twins, Bill, and Fleur had already arrived. The part Veela was greeting Harry very enthusiastically. Too enthusiastically for Ron's taste, as she nearly oversaw him.

During dinner Ron observed Harry closely. He knew himself he was thick and nonsensitive, but he noticed Harry spent most of the dinner in silence and didn't eat much. He never shovelled nearly as much food down as Ron, but now he ate suspiciously few. When Mrs. Weasley wasn't looking Harry even shove half of his meat on Ron's plate and firmly rejected a second helping.

Altogether Harry was exactly in the state described by Hermione's book.

**---**

It was unnerving to be watched by the entire Weasley family. How much did they know about his destiny? Did they know he alone was able to kill Voldemort? Normally Harry liked to be treated like a seventh son, but especially Mrs. Weasley fussed about him in a way which was embarrassing to the core.

After dinner everyone moved to the living room, were Harry had to open the birthday presents one by one. He really enjoyed it; it was one of the few occasions his mind drifted off from the Prophecy. He rejoiced over the Snitch from Ron and Ginny, Fred and George brought him a representative cross section of their Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes, and Bill handed over a book on curse breaking.

"A possible choice of career," the eldest Weasley son added.

When Harry was finished, the discussion soon turned to the war, to the displeasure of Molly Weasley. Indeed, the topic spoiled Harry's mood, too. When Ginny approached him with a tea tray, he shook his head. Again he was reminded of his destiny; it all came down to him. Even if none of them knew it, all their complains about Voldemort and his followers were directed at him. It was his task to end this - as soon as possible. Bill's book would become quite useful, soon. Perhaps the gift was even intended as a hint on how to prepare for the final reckoning. Harry was distracted when Fred and George plopped down at his side. However, their proposal of an own product line labelled _Potter's Pleasantries_ wasn't suitable to cheer him up. The whole idea strongly reminded him of Lockhart.

Remus Lupin mentioned he held contact with some werewolf packs, who seceded from the wizarding world. At least some of these werewolves would join Voldemort in his attempt to overcome the government, but other more thoughtful minds feared the day Voldemort would succeed.

"He and his followers are racists, not only prejudiced against Muggles and Muggle-born, but also against all kind of non human beings and half-breeds," Lupin explained. "At the moment Voldemort" – several people flinched – "is able to offer much more than the wizarding world, especially with a biased government like this. But quite a few of us expect, soon after a victory of the dark side a hunt on werewolves, vampires, centaurs and other beasts and beings will begin and continue until the last one is dead."

"I've heard the same misgivings from Goblins," told Bill, "but they don't join our side either. Goblins are mostly interested in business, business with all kind of humans and beings. They would lose too many customers if they side with us."

Mr. Weasley nodded slightly. "The majority of the noble and wealthy wizarding families are leaning towards the dark side, even if only few of them support You-Know-Who directly. The problem is that as long as the Goblins remain neutral the Ministry can't confiscate or freeze the assets even of proven Death Eaters."

Harry's thoughts wandered off. Proven Death Eaters, like Sirius Black, imprisoned without a trial. Sirius had been able to purchase the Firebolt even though he was on the run from Azkaban.

Bill cut in, "The problem is, that the Ministry tries to put pressure on Gringotts. If Scrimgeour continues, it will backfire. It's merely a matter of time."

Things might have been different, if he hadn't spend twelve year in that prison – and another year in Dumbledore's cage. Things would have been different, if he, Harry, had remembered the two-way mirror Sirius had handed him last Christmas.

"It's Dolores Umbridge who tries to force Gringotts and its Goblins under ministerial control," Arthur Weasley explained. "It is an attempt to ensure the safety of our economy. We depend on the Goblins too much."

Bill disagreed. "Umbridge endangers our economy even further if she isn't stopped in time."

The words needed some moments to sink in, but then Harry looked up. "What's with Umbridge? That old toad?"

"She's Undersecretary at the Ministry," Bill explained, "special assistant to Rufus Scrimgeour, and that's the new Minister for Magic."

"She's back at the Ministry?" Ron looked bewildered. The information was news for him, too. "I thought she was in St. Mungo's."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "Why is the toad still in office and not in Azkaban?" His voice became louder. "Why isn't she charged for her crimes?"

The adults looked uncomfortable and exchanged glances. Molly Weasley tried to ease up the tension announcing, "I think there is still some dessert."

"Why isn't she in Azkaban yet?" Harry pressed on, his gaze wandering from Arthur Weasley to Remus Lupin and back.

"Would someone please help me serve the dessert?" Mrs. Weasley started again, now with a strict undertone. "Ginny? Ron?"

"No!" Ron simply ignored his mum, while Ginny refused firmly. "I want to hear an explanation, too."

"Well," Arthur Weasley hesitated.

"And it had better be good," Ron underlined, anticipating Harry.

His father sighed and started, "Dumbledore doesn't want to unduly stress our alliance with the Ministry right now."

"Our alliance? That bitch tried to kill me," Harry practically yelled.

"She sent the Dementors after me. She tried to drug me with Veritaserum and to Cruciate me. She admitted everything in front of a dozen people. Didn't Ron tell you?"

He turned to his friend. "You did tell them, didn't you?"

"Course, I did," Ron answered at once. "Mum went berserk when we told her the stories about the toad."

"I know McGonagall interrogated half of Hogwarts to collect material against her," Ginny chimed in. "I'm sure she found enough to bring her down twice."

Harry looked questioningly at Remus Lupin, but the man avoided his eyes and stared into the cup in his hands.

"Harry," he started almost pleadingly, "at the moment the Headmaster has just patched up his ties with the Ministry. And our society itself is still shaken by the return of Voldemort. To land the Undersecretary in Azkaban would cause even more uproar and further doubts in the efficiency of our government. And that's something we really don't need just now."

"But you are affected by her, too," the teenager retorted. "Didn't she draw the laws against werewolves?"

"We have to get rid of her one day," Lupin admitted, "not just now."

"I'd say the sooner the better," Bill grumbled, "before she scares off even the last of our potential allies."

Just then Mrs. Weasley returned with a plate of custard tarts. "Harry, dear, another tart?"

Harry hadn't even noticed that she had left beforehand. He shook his head and mumbled, "I think I go upstairs." He didn't really want to leave but at the moment he couldn't stand the surrounding people either. He stood up and bid everyone 'night'. Before he left the room, Remus Lupin held him back.

"Can I talk to you tomorrow?"

Harry nodded, but didn't ask for the reason. All he wanted now was to leave, to be alone, to head upstairs for 'his' room. But when he sat down on 'his' bed the uneasiness, he had felt earlier that day, returned. Harry had never wasted a thought on the sleeping arrangements at the Burrow. He had been certain he would share Ron's room. He had been sure he would spend the nights together with his friend, would hear the breaths and the snores from the other bed, would know there was someone else with him in the room. One who would wake him if the dreams became too turbulent like he had done the whole last school year.

Harry changed into his pyjamas and slid under the blanket. It _did_ help that he stayed in the twins' room. For a while his concentration was focussed on the interior, musing what for traps they had installed. Neither Ron nor Ginny had explained what exactly the bedsheets had been capable of. But soon his mind turned back to the problem at hand and he simply stared at the ceiling, awaiting the dreams that would come soon. Harry didn't want to fall asleep, but nevertheless, he needed the information the dreams provided. He managed to stay awake until the last Weasley had rumbled upstairs, but then he drifted off to sleep.

Once more he awoke in the graveyard, already tied to the gravestone of Tom Riddle. About a dozen hooded Death Eaters were assembled around the grave, dimly lit by the half-moon, and in silence awaiting their master. Harry tried to scream, to insult them, but he wasn't able to produce any sound. He wasn't petrified. He could see everything around him, he could move his eyes, even his head, but no sound left his voice box.

The Death Eaters didn't care. They seemed to be absorbed in their thoughts and took no notice of him. They didn't even move at all, Harry realised, all of them were standing still like frozen, like statues. A glimmer of hope roused Harry to action. Perhaps there was a chance to loosen the grip of the manacles, to even escape without them noticing, but how much he tore at the ropes, it was to no avail.

Subconsciously he was aware this was a dream, a vision, a nightmare, but nevertheless just a dream. The teen closed his eyes and tried to breath deeply. Accidental Magic! Apparating, like all those years back. Wishing himself away, like back in elementary school. If only he knew how Apparating actually worked. Picturing oneself at the desired destination? He concentrated on himself anywhere else. Himself in his scarlet Gryffindor four poster. No, you can't Apparate into Hogwarts. The Burrow? Probably protected against Apparition, too. Privet Drive? Anywhere was better than here. Privet Drive, his bedroom, his cupboard. He tried to focus on his cupboard, his cot, himself covered by the blanket. He almost could feel the bedsheets. But then, against his will, his eyes opened, and he saw a tall figure manifesting in the dark.

The figure stepped forward and approached the gravestone, the face hidden beneath a long, dark hood and behind a typical Death Eater's mask. The other Death Eaters started to move, their head bowing and one by one they followed their leader. Was it Voldemort? No, he never hid his face like his minions.

"Harry Potter," a raspy, creepy voice emerged from behind the mask, "there was no doubt we would meet again."

With both hands the figure reached for the hood, and with a sudden movement threw it back. Harry gasped. His eyes widened in astonishment, and he stared at his opponent. What had seemed to be a slim, male figure like Lucius Malfoy or Voldemort himself just a moment ago, turned into a short, pudgy woman with the pale, toadlike face of Dolores Umbridge.

"You," Harry exclaimed angrily, "You're a Death Eater." He didn't even realise that he was able to speak again.

"Of course, I am," Umbridge answered with her almost unreal sweet voice.

The other figures drew nearer and formed a semicircle around the gravestone. Below their hoods Harry was able to recognise their masked faces, concealed behind ugly deformed replicas of their original features. Or did they even wear masks at all?

"What did you expect?" she continued softly and lifted her wand, aiming at Harry. She cracked a toadlike smile. "I must have been very convincing, if anyone really believed I was just following the dumb fool Fudge."

The other faces came nearer, hungrily awaiting further action. Now he could clearly see their distorted features, and all resembled Hogwarts students. Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, Zacharias Smith, Marietta Edgecombe, more Slytherins, and a few member of other houses as well. A particularly ugly face was barely recognisable, but her large, square frame gave Millicent Bulstrode away.

The toad's wide mouth opened again. "Now I am able to punish you for every moment you tried to befoul my Lord."

"You're all Death Eaters," Harry stated the obvious, and some part of his consciousness or subconscious tried to mentally note all names and faces he was able to recognise.

Umbridge ignored his statement and continued, "You tried to wreak havoc; you tried to thwart the Dark Lord's plans again and again. But you failed. And now it's my turn, my duty, to discipline you for all your insolence."

Somewhere in his subconscious mind Harry knew the entire scene wasn't real, it was a dream, a vision, a product of his own imagination. The assembled Death Eaters still didn't say anything but emitting some animal, guttural sounds, yawing, lusting for him to suffer from Umbridge's wand. He had seen enough. He knew most of the assembled lot and would remember their names later. Now if it was a dream - as it was a dream he just had to wake before she actually started to curse him.

"You knew he was reborn," Harry shouted, "you knew it all along!"

"Of course I did, you foolish boy," the witch answered. "It was my task to prevent the public from learning about it." She licked her lips in delight and pointed her wand straight at his chest. "Crucio."

Harry awoke with a yelp. Automatically he reached for his wand under his pillow. For a moment he didn't know where he was. Was this still a part of his dream? The surrounding room, dimly lit by the moonlight, was unfamiliar, and without his glasses he wasn't able to recognise anything. And where was his wand? Panic arose inside him - what if Voldemort had actually managed to abduct him? But then he realised he wasn't at Privet Drive anymore. He was at the Burrow, in Fred and George's room.

Harry didn't know how much of his dream was actually real. He didn't know if the dream mirrored real events or if it was largely a product of his fantasy. But he was sure - he _knew _his dreams weren't just fantasies. They were at least_ based_ on facts. Voldemort had tried to possess him, he might have left a shadow of his memory, now revealing names and locations. Then there was still the link connecting their minds. Harry himself wasn't able to block it; perhaps Voldemort, too, couldn't seal it completely. It was impossible to continuously empty the mind of all thoughts and emotions. Bits of information certainly slipped past Voldemort's barrier and reached Harry, especially at night, when both their minds were weakened. Hadn't he seen all these visions while asleep?

He lit the lamp on the desk and opened his trunk to get his notations hidden down below a layer of underwear. There was no doubt that Umbridge was a Death Eater. It explained everything, her hatred towards Hagrid and the Centaurs, her disdain for Muggle-born, and her denying Voldemort's return. Perhaps she had joined him right after the Triwizard Tournament, or she had already been one of his followers during the first war. Anyway, her actions had delayed any swift and firm reaction against Voldemort and his Death Eaters for more than a year.

Harry sat down at the desk and started to scribble down the names he had learned that night. Seventeen students, and two more, which he had seen before, but didn't know. He was sure, once back at Hogwarts, he would be able to recognise them. Most students he already had on his list, Malfoy and the other Slytherins of course, but also Edgecomb and Smith. The most important name, however, was Dolores Umbridge.

Finished with his task Harry again buried the papers in the trunk. Wondering if Dumbledore knew about Umbridge he blew out the lamp and walked over towards the window. The sky was cloudless and the waning moon was gleaming quite bright, basking the Burrow and its surroundings in a slivery light. Right now he was too agitated to get back to sleep. If only he could ...

Forgotten were Umbridge and Voldemort. Harry didn't hesitate. He jumped towards the cupboard and slipped into one of his school robes. He didn't bother his shoes. Instead he just grabbed the Firebolt and opened the window. Seconds later he shot out into the sky.

* * *

_posted: Mai, 28, 2007_

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**A/N: **I'm sorry, but real life did interfere again. I will never again posting any promises concerning the next update. 

If you are interested in Trio-Fics, please have a look at my C2 Community _Harry Ron Hermione_.

Thank you for your reviews.


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